LIBRARY 

OK  THK 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


|AN1895 
^Accessions  No.STfjf^  .        Class  No. 


IW 


'~^—J 


SUNNYSIDE     (pages  67,  90). 


VERSES 


FROM  THE  VALLEY. 


BY  E.  S.  GOODHUE. 


'  All  are  architects  of  Fate, 

Working  in  these  walls  of  Time; 

Some  with  massive  deeds  and  great, 

Some  with  ornaments  of  rhyme. 

'  Nothing  useless  is,  or  low; 

Each  thing  in  its  place  is  best; 
And  what  seems  but  idle  show 
Strengthens  and  supports  the  rest." 

— Longfellow, 


OAKLAND  : 

PACIFIC  PRESS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 
1888. 


U1TITERSIT7 


3 

1  O  flowering  stretches  glow  and  shine, 
The  language  of  my  heart  is  thine." 


COPYRIGHTED,  \BQQ. 

^   H. 


TO  HIS  DEAFUM-QTHER 
f-   •     /•    . 


BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


CO  N  T  E  N  TS. 


PAGE. 

CONSPIRACY 9 

FLOWERS 14 

A  LESSON 15 

IN  THE  TULES 17 

To  P.  H.  H 18 

MY  VALLEY , 19 

ECHO  CASTLE 20 

To  MY  NAMESAKE 25 

LOVE  FIRST 27 

Two  CITIES 30 

PECCAVI 32 

RELEASE    34 

GOD  RULES 37 

MNEMOSYNE 38 

THE  DYING  YEAR 41 

A  MOTHER'S  LOVE 44 

PSYCHE 46 

SILENCE 48 

THE  CLOCK  AND  THE  OWL '  50 

THE  THRONG 54 

MY  CHOICE 55 

SINCERITY 57 

JEALOUSY : 59 

A  CAROL 61 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD 62 

To  A  YOUNG  FRIEND  , 63 

EVENA , 64 

PROVIDENCE 64 

IN  OUR  LAND 65 

CHRISTMAS-TIDE 65 

(v) 


vi  CONTENTS. 

I'AGE. 

SUNNYSIDE 67 

FEAR  NOT 68 

LOOK  UP 68 

To  A  CHILD 69 

RECONCILIATION 7 ! 

BY  THE  CLOCK 73 

THE  EBB  AND  FLOW 75 

You 76 

THE  WISER  PLAN 77 

A  SONNET 7$ 

THE  RAIN 79 

LINES 8o 

CLOUDS 8l 

CARELESS  WORDS 82 

LINES  WRITTEN  ON  THE  ILIA  OF  AN  OLD  SKELETON 82 

To  GRIEF 85 

FRAGMENT 85 

MONEY 87 

FRUSTRATED 88 

SUNNY  SIDE 9° 

ST.  JOHN'S  CHURCH 94 

To  MY  CONFESSOR 96 

To  NELLIE -  •  •  97 

MIDNIGHT 98 

THE' LEADERS 99 

IN  THE  MAPLEWOOD I0° 

To  CAPTAIN  L  I01 


•o- 


EARLY    PIECES. 

X  PAGE. 

To  MOTHER I03 

HOLD  THOU  MY  HAND I04 

TRUE  FRIENDS Io6 

LINES,  ON  RECEIVING  A  BUNCH  OF  MAGNOLIA  LEAVES 107 

FIDUS  ACHATES I09 

FOLLOW  ME 1 1 1 


CONTENTS.   _  vn 

PAGE. 

A  GUEST "5 

How  THE  WATER  LILY  CAME     1 16 

AT  EVENING I2° 

To  M.  J.  A.  P I22 

I  DID  NOT  KNOW 123 

To  MY  BROTHER  ON  His  BIRTHDAY 126 

IN  A  SCHOOL-MATE'S  ALBUM 128 

THE  Two   ROADS I28 

NlCODEMUS I29 

APPLE  BLOSSOMS ......  130 

Two  SOLILOQUIES I31 

To  MAY  I31 

IN  AN  ALBUM i32 

DE  GOOD  OLE  DAYS ;  •  133 

COME 'LONG,  SINNAH 135 

As  WE  GWINE  TURNIN  'RouN i36 


-O- 


TRANSLATIONS. 

PAGE  . 

MARGUERITE i.39 

DUST  TO  DUST H° 

FRAGMENT H2 

GOD • H2 

THE  SWEET  NIGHTS H2 

ARCANA 143 

APHORISM H3 

FAITH  . .            H3 


FLORIDIANA. 

PAGE. 

CANTO  i 145 

CANTO  ii 152 

THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY 165 

CANTO  in i72 

VIOLA'S  CHARM 183 


THY    LAND    WITH    ITS    HIGH,    HIGH    HILLS,    AND    ITS    SUNKEN    DALES 


UlTITBRS 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

O 

CONSPIRACY. 


';  THOU  comest  again?" 
Said  the  mild-faced  moon 
To  the  bearded  rime, 

"Thou  comest  again?" 

"Aye,  aye,"  cried  the  giant,  as  hurrying  fast 
He  came  from  the  North  in  a  northern  blast, 

"  I  have  touched  thy  land  at  last. 
Thy  land  with  its  high,  high  hills 
And  its  sunken  dales; 

With  its  lakes  of  crystal;  with  its  mountain  rills 
And  its  vales. 

I  shall  spread  my  tent  some  night 
Upon  that  plain  of  flowers. 
When  the  sun  is  asleep  and  far  away, 
When  you  smile  upon  earth  in  a  silver  ray, 
I  will  alight, 

And  blow  my  cold  breath  for  hours  and  hours, 
Till  .the  lakes  smoke  up,  and  the  rills  sink  low; 
Till  the  hills  are  covered  with  inches  of  snow, 
And  all  the  flowers  that  lie  in  the  vale 
Shall  utter  a  wail,  and  lament  and  cry: 
'Oh  !  spare  us  to-night !     Oh  !  let  us  not  die;' 
But  I  shall  breathe  out  my  frosty  breath 
And  bring  to  a  million  of  flowers  their  death." 

(9) 


: :  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

'-Thou  art  cruel,  O  frost !" 
Said  the  kind-feced  moon 
'.  :  :r.e  :::s:y  kir.r. 
"The  North  is  thy  home, 
And  why  shouldst  thon  roam 
To  this  joyous  land  where*  roses  blow, 
When  your  land  is  buried  in  ice  and  snow? 
Thou  an  well  in  thy  place, 
And  thy  bearded  face, 
Frozen  with  ice  into  points  of  glass 
Which  rattle  and  glitter  as  we  pass, 
Is  merry  full  oft,  and  kindly  withal. 
Bringing  much  cheer  to  great  and  to  small. 

-A  month  ago  in  the  North,  the  leaves  fell 
Down  from  the  trees. 
Euroclydon  came  sandalless  and  cried: 
Now  is  the  day  at  hand,  come  forth ! 
Prepare  ye  every  one.     A  knell 
Sounds  loud  in  every  whistling  wind; 
Summer  and  sun  and  warmth  have  died/ 

"Forthwith  the  leaves  turned  red, 

The  shining  silks  of  corn  grew  brown, 
.     The  pumpkins  yellow,     rverhead 
A  sea  of  leaden  sky  did  drown 
The  former  blue,  and  cast  about 
Its  waves  of  drifting  cloud, 
East,  west,  and  north,  and  south, 
Like  vast  redoubts 
To  guard  some  cannon's  mouth. 
Rain  came,  and  chilly  air, 


Ml-SCELLAXEC  I  I 

With  winds  that  shook  the  apples  down. 
Now  ripe  and  mellow,  plump  and  brown; 
While  crows  flew  southward,  flock  by  flock, 
And  goose  and  crane  and  wily  hawk; 
Full  grew  the  barns  of  scented  hay, 
?  _:  ever.   r.t'. :  _-r      lire  ir. :   _-iy 

"Then  one  night  die  snow 
Came  falling  down, 

And  fell  into  the  field  and  into  the  town. 
Down  thro'  the  darkness,  flake  by  dake, 
While  the  world  slept  and  none  were  awake. 
And  when  morning  came  they  saw  thy  face, 
It  was  smiling  to  them  from  an  open  space. 
So  they  cried:  -  He  has  come,  he  Ins  camt,  - 
For  the  rivers  and  lakes  are  stricken  dumb." 

"After  that  night  when  I  looked  on  the  earth, 
It  was  ringing  with  laughter  and  mirth: 
White  were  the  rirer  and  lake: 
Buried  each  bush  and  brake; 
And  thine  icy  breath 
Brought  life,  not  death. 
Far  below,  below, 
Deep  under  the  snow, 

Were  hidden  the  flowers  and  blades  of  grass. 
And  lads  were  shouting:  cOh  ho!  oh  ho! 
Here  is  the  snow,  the  snow/ 

••As  I  smile  on  these  flowers  to-night, 
And  the  warm  wind  touches  them  soft  and  light. 

:  5::::".=  .15     e     :-  A  ii.-erer.:  s^r.: 
Far  up  in  the  North,  on  a  frozen  lake, 


12  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Many  lads  and  lassies  do  gaily  make 
The  country  around  them  in  mirth  awake. 
They  are  skating  and  sliding  and  slipping  along, 
Hand  in  hand  to  the  tune  of  a  song, 
Muffled  and  hidden  in  blanket  and  fur; 
Hidden  as  safe  as  a  nut  in  its  burr. 

"Blow  and  bluster,  King  Winter 
Freeze  the  air  into  ice, 
These  are  ready  to  greet  thee 
In  any  device; 
But  come  not,  I  pray  thee, 
To  frighten  the  children 
Of  sunshine  and  warmth." 

Thus  answered  the  king: 
" To-night  I  shall  visit  this  foot-hill  and  plain; 
To-morrow  your  sun  may  well  number  his  slain; 
For  my  mission  is  hither, 
I  cannot  go  back: 
Though,  alack!  alack! 
I  blight  and  I  wither 
The  flowers  in  my  track. 

I  rode  from  the  North  on  the  ridge  of  your  mountain; 
In  the  darkness  I  came; 
And  soon  all  the  sleeping 
Will  rise  into  weeping." 

Then  the  stars  flashed  and  twinkled 
Out  into  the  sky, 
And  Mars  made  reply, 
"You  hard-hearted  monster, 
Go  back  to  your  place, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  13 

Where  the  icicles  hang, 
Like  fruit  from  the  trees, 
As  they  hang  from  your  face. 
Go  back  to  your  kingdom 
And  lasting  disgrace." 

"Tiscold,  cold,  cold, 

I  fear  I'm  growing  old," 

Whispered  a  larkspur  trembling. 

Then  Venus  called  across  the  space: 
"Come  not,  O  king!  be  not  so  base  ; 

Not  for  one  day,  t  ;  , 

Come  not,  I  pray." 

But  the  old  king  laughed  as  he  stood  on  the  hill, 
Bearded  and  frozen,  with  long,  hoary  locks; 
As  he  shook  off  the  frost  from  his  crimson  frill, 
And  stamped  in  the  snow  with  his  leathern  socks. 

"Down  from  the  hill  I. will  glide 
And  slide  ; 
Down  to  the  valley 
Through  canon  and  alley." 

At  this  the  stars  grew  larger,  blinking, 
And  the  moon  moved  swifter  on  ; 
A  south  wind  came,  and  winking 
The  moon-man's  srhile  was  longer  drawn, 
As  from  the  corners  of  the  sky 
Clouds  grew  and  spread  afar  and  nigh, 
Huge,  black,  and  swift  they  hurried  by  ; 
Loud  from  above  the  thunder  pealed ; 
Moon,  stars,  and  all  were  now  concealed, 


14  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

While  torrents  fell 
On  hill  and  dell. 


FLOWERS. 


O  PRECIOUS,  precious  flowers !  I  love 
Your  glad,  sweet  faces  as  they  srrile 
Up  from  the  hills  for  many  a  mile ; 
Up  to  the  light  which  from  above 
Comes  to  you,  like  some  white-winged  dove, 
With  cheering  message  for  a  while ! 
Oh !  could  I  longer  here  beguile 

Your  shortening  stay,  and  to  you  prove 
How  very  much  I  love  you  all, 

And  how  you  fill  my  heart  with  joy ; 
How  thoughts  go  back  at  your  soft  call, 

To  days  when  I  was  but  a  boy, 
Wrhen,  hidden  in  the  blossoms  tall, 

I  did  my  happy  hours  employ. 

Or,  gathering  May-buds  in  the  spring- 
Under  the  birch  and  maple  trees — 
For  wondering  boys  and  busy  bees 
Left  as  a  graceful  offering — 
I  wreathed  around  my  hat  a  ring 
And  there  fell  down  upon  my  knees, 
Thanking  the  God  who  all  things  sees, 

In  prayer  that  was  a  whispering, 
For  all  these  tiny  tokens  fair, 

Scattered  with  such  a  lavish  hand ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  1 5 

For  you,  dear  flowers,  who  have  no  care, 
But  work  in  silence  through  the  land ! 

Then,  taking  all  my  arms  could  bear, 
Went  home  along  the  river  strand. 

And,  as  upon  the  mountain-side 
I  lie  and  watch  the  stretching  plain, 
Boyhood  comes  back  to  me  again, 
And  years  among  the  daisies  hide, 
As  though,  sweet  years,  they  had  not  died. 
Old  memories  loved  crowd  thro'  my  brain, 
Bringing  a  sort  of  spirit-pain — 

With  o'ergrown  vistas  opened  wide; 
And  once  again  the  gratitude 

That  filled  my  child-heart,  flowing  o'er, 
As  stood  I  in  the  maple-wood, 

Comes  down  upon  me  as  before, 
And  to  kind  Nature's  God  I  would 

My  heart  in  grateful  feelings  pour. 
Pachappa  Hill. 


A  LESSON. 

AT  my  window  an  apricot  tree 

That  has  stood  there  the  long  winter  through, 
As  leafless  and  bare  as  a  dead  thing  could  be, 

Has  taken  on  robes  fresh  and  new, 
And  dressed  up  as  gaily  as  any  fair  maid, 
That  comes  to  the  church  in  her  beauty  arrayed. 

I  was  thinking  not  long  since — Ah !  well, 


1 6  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

I  will  cut  down  that  rough-looking  tree, 
For  I  thought,  as  I  heard  others  tell, 

It  was  really  no  service  to  me; 
Ungrateful  and  selfish  I  was,  I  confess, 
And  very  forgetful  of  past  kindliness. 

Lo!  this  morning  I  awoke,  and  beheld 
Every  twig  clothed  in  purity  white, 

A  thousand  sweet  blossoms — six  petals  each  held- 
Their  faces  so  happy  and  bright, 

As  if  to  reprove  my  impatience,  and  say : 

Be  less  hasty  in  judging  of  others,  I  pray. 

Tis  a  comfort  to  me  when  I  sit 

And  look  toward  the  west,  from  my  room, 

To  watch  how  the  petals  are  lit, 

As  the  morning  light  falls  on  their  bloom; 

And  I  promise  my  heart  ne'er  a  child  shall  I  be, 

But  this  lesson  will  learn  from  my  apricot  tree: 

That  each  has  his  work,  and  his  time 

In  which  that  same  work  should  be  done; 

That  waiting  is  labor  sublime, 

When  preparing  and  waiting  are  one; 

That  many  adjudged  to  be  idle,  are  those 

Who  make  the  world  better,  and  lessen  its  woes. 

That  another  I  never  may  chide, 
Till  I  know  the  intents  of  his  heart; 

By  God's  standard  his  works  may  abide, 
As  my  own,  by  that  standard,  depart; 

That  with  good-will  and  patience,  results  we  shall 

From  men,  as  from  also  my  apricot  tree. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  17 

IN  THE  TULES. 

CHATTER  and  chatter  and  chatter, 

In  the  tall  tules  all  day  long, 
Singing  a  blackbird  chorus 

To  the  notes  of  a  blackbird  song. 

Darker  than  jet  are  the  singers, 

And  their  coats  shine  in  the  sun; 
Whistle,  and  sing,  and  chatter 

Will  they  till  the  day  is  done. 

And  as  long  as  the  moonlight  glances 

Down  into  the  blades  of  green; 
As  long  as  one  ray  of  glimmer 

May  over  the  hills  be  seen. 

Early  and  bright  in  the  morning, 

Ere  old  Helios  calls  his  steed, 
Swinging  are  all  my  blackbirds, 

On  many  a  flag  and  reed. 

To  the  music  of  the  clatter, 

The  cat's-tails  nod  and  bend, 
While  the  small  stalks  shake  and  shiver, 

Yet  attentively  attend. 

"Oh!  fie  on  these  noisy  madcaps," 

A  fussy  old  mud-hen  cries, 
As  out,  with  -an  angry  splutter, 

She  quick  from  her  snug  nest  hies. 

"  How  tired  am  I  of  such  revels, 
Such  wild  and  hilarious  mirth; 


1 8  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

I  declare,  not  one  hour  have  I  rested, 
Not  one  hour  since  the  day  of  my  birth." 

And  away  off  she  flies,  as  huffy 

As  ever  a  mud-hen  was, 
Cursing  the  birds  for  her  trouble, 

And  calling  them  heartless  daws. 

Two  turtle-doves  cooed  from  the  branches; 
Four  rabbits  were  met;  "  Such  a  chance," 
Said  one  of  the  four  to  the  others, 
"  For  a  giddy  whirl  and  a  dance." 

'Twas  a  dance  to  the  blackbird  music, 

And  much  of  a  rigadoon, 
As  you  might  have  seen,  had  you  watched  them, 

As  they  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

Chatter  and  chatter  and  chatter, 

In  the  tall  tules  all  day  long, 
Singing  a  blackbird  chorus, 

At  the  end  of  a  blackbird  song. 


TO  P.  H.  H. 


1  THERE  lives  the  poet,"  said  he,  pointing  down 

To  a  low  cottage  in  the  oak  and  pine: 

'  He  who  has  writ  so  many  a  joyous  line," 

Then  left  me  on  the  hill,  and  to  the  town 

Went  slowly  back.     As  through  the  old  trees  brown 

The  morning  sunbeams  now  began  to  shine, 

And  flood  the  forest  with  their  li^ht  divine, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  19 

I  stayed  upon  the  fragrant  sward,  and  sat  me  down, 
Thinking  of  all  thy  inspirations  sweet, 
Caught,  poet,  from  thy  happy  Southern  wood, 
Where  mocking  birds  in  merry  concerts  meet, 
And  sighing  pines  for  centuries  have  stood. 
Then  blessed  I  thee  for  all  thy  strains  that  greet 
And  cheer  the  hearts  of  men,  with  weary  feet. 
Here  could  I  praises  sing,  and  fondly  tell 
Unto  my  soul  and  to  the  aged  trees; 
To  blades  of  grass  and  birds  and  humble-bees, 
Words  they  might  list  and  understand  as  well, 
But  which,  if  in  thine  ear  they  sounding  fell, 
Would  grate  thee  and  thy  poet's  soul  displease. 
Augusta,  Ga.,  October,  1881. 


MY  VALLEY. 


MY  valley  hidden  lies 

Within  its  circling  hills, 
Above  it  stretch  the  arching  skies, 

And  to  it  Northern  chills, 
Ne'er  come  with  deadly  breath  to  freeze, 
The  life-blood  of  its  orange  trees. 

Italian  skies  smile  down 

Upon  the  reaching  plain, 
Where  glossy  groves  of  far  renown, 

Hang  with- the  fruit  of  Spain; 
Praised  oft  with  poet's  fire  and  zest, 
The  golden  apples  of  the  west — 


20  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Fruit  given  to  Jupiter, 

The  highest  god,  by  one 
Who,  queen  of  heaven,  possessed  in  her 

The  beauty  of  the  sun — 
Small  spheres  of  gold  which  tempting  shine 
Like  rounded  nuggets  of  the  mine. 
Armenia's  children  spread 

Their  ovate  foliage  wide, 
And  pomegranate  blossoms  red 

Behind  the  hedges  hide ; 
Australian  giants,  odd  and  tall, 
Stretch  awkward  branches  over  all. 
I  love  my  valley,  and 

I  love  what  in  it  lies; 
Not  only  miles  of  beauteous  land 

And  cloudless,  smiling  skies, 
But  hearts  of  many  there,  who  hold 
The  love  I  treasure  more  than  gold. 
They  love  my  valley  too, 

For  theirs  it  is  as  well. 
And  sheltered  'neath  its  dome  of  blue 

In  fairy  homes  they  dwell. 
Olympian  gods  might  envy  those 
Who  in  my  vale  find  their  repose. 

Riverside,  Cat. 

o 

ECHO  CASTLE. 

AGAIN  I  see  a  castle  old, 

With  broken  gate  and  shattered  tower, 

Covered  with  vines  of  passion-flower. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  21 

Alone  it  stood  among  the  oak 

And  palm  and  bay  trees,  deep  in  gloom, 

With  windows  high  and  spacious  room. 

Not  far  away  the  ocean  tossed 
Its  noisy  wave  against  a  shore, 
That  lay  resistant  in  the  roar, 

And  groaned  in  deep-toned  voice,  around 
The  castle  and  through  all  the  wood, 
As  only  earth  to  ocean  could. 

Here  came  we  when  the  sun  went  down, 
And  from  the  west  a  reddening  glow 
Fell  upon  us  and  all  below, 

Touching  the  trees  with  darker  shade. 
Tinting  the  white  blooms  as  they  lay 
Closing  almost,  at  close  of  day. 

"Come,  let  us  go  within,"  I  said, 
And  climb  the  stairway  of  the  tower, 
There  to  enjoy  our  leisure  hour. 

And  so  through  darksome  hall  we  went, 
Yet  pausing  oft  to  catch  the  sound 
That  from  our  footsteps  echoed  round. 

"Alice,"  the  echo  ever  cried, 

From  sound  of  voice  or  footstep  fall, 
"A-lice,"  the  echo  seemed  to  call. 

Closer  my  side  my  friend  did  press, 
In  half-way  fear  and  shy  alarm; 
I  felt  her  heart  beat  on  mv  arm. 


VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

I  knew  she  wondered  why  each  sound 
Of  voice  or  step  or  creaking  floor, 
Should  echo  "Alice,"  nothing  more, 

Through  room  and  hall  and  winding  tower, 
And  so  I  nothing  said,  while  she 
Drew  close  and  closer  unto  me. 

With  silent  voice  and  noiseless  tread, 
We  reached  the  mouldy  turret  stair, 
When,  breaking  shrilly  through  the  air, 

The  horrid  screech  of  frightened  owl 
Brought  echoes  loud  from  every  wall, 
Of  cellar,  attic,  tower,  and  hall. 

"Alice,"  the  echoes  singly  came, 
'  And  met  and  mingled  in  one  note. 
So  dreadful  as  they  rudely  smote 

Ceiling  and  rafter  with  the  sound, 

Repeating  ever,  till  they  died 

Like  strangling  ghosts  on  every  side. 

I  felt  the  heart-beats  plainer  still, 
And  tremors  with  them  soon  began 
To  grow  electric,  as  they  ran. 

We  touched  the  crumbling,  mossy  stair; 
With  shadows  dark  we  moved  along, 
As  portion  of  the  spirit  throng, 

And  gained  at  length  a  turret  small, 
Reaching  above  the  palm  trees  high, 
With  opening  toward  the  starry  sky, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  23 

From  which  the  moon,  now  rising,  shone 
Down  on  the  forest  and  the  sea, 
Down  on  my  gentle  maid  and  me. 

'What,"  said  she  softly,  "can  it  mean, 
This  plaintive,  changeless  echo  voice, 
Without  a  varying  note  of  choice  ?  " 

Tis  not  an  echo,  but  a  call, 

A  startling,  dismal  monotone 

That  might  have  echoes  of  its  own." 

And  so  I  told  her,  as  we  sat 

Up  in  that  ancient,  moonlit  bower, 

The  story  of  the  mouldy  tower. 

How  in  the  years  of  long  ago 

A  youthful  lover,  good  and  true, 

Had  planned  the  castle  through  and  through, 

And  built  it  then  accordingly 

For  her  he  loved  more  than  his  life; 

For  her  who  was  to  be  his  wife. 

Sweet  Alice  Hope,  the  fairest  maid 
That  ever  lived  where  palm  trees  grow, 
And  orange  blossoms  bud  and  blow. 

And  when  the  castle  ready  grew, 
With  shady  lawn  and  garden  plot. 
With  not  a  beauteous  thing  forgot, 

Or  not  a  thing  the  heart  could  wish, 
The  lover  brought  his  smiling  bride 
Up  to  the  mansion,  by  his  side. 


24  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY.. 

And  there  they  passed  a  happy  day, 
Till  night  spread  o'er  the  castle  high, 
Its  mantle  dark  and  shrouded  sky; 

Then,  as  the  lover  lay  asleep, 
Thinking  in  dreams  of  his  fair  bride, 
Dark  forms  did  through  the  castle  glide, 

While  echoes  low  called  out  in  vain — 
From  muffled  footsteps  as  they  fell — 
"It  is  not  well,  it  is  not  well." 

At  midnight  hour  the  lover  woke, 
A  And,  listening,  heard  fall  everywhere 

Faint  echoes  through  the  heavy  air; 

And,  starting,  found  himself  alone; 
Alone  in  couch  and  room  and  hall; 
Alone  within  his  castle  wall. 

"Alice,"  he  called,  "Alice,  my  love," 

But  back  into  his  lonely  room 
"Alice,"  came  echoing  through  the  gloom. 

Then  quick  the  lover  rose  in  fear, 
And  trembling  ran,  and  wildly  cried, 
As  voice  notes  into  echoes  died. 

Though  weeks  went  by  he  never  found 
Her  whom  he  searched  both  day  and  night, 
With  beating  heart  and  tearful  sight, 

Till  sad  he  grew,  morose  and  gray. 
Till  strangely  in  his  eyes  there  came 
The  red  lamps  of  unreason's  flame; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  25 

And  through  the  castle,  wild  he  ran 
In  maddened  frenzy,  knowing  not 
Entreating  word  or  sober  thought. 

So  thus  he  searched,  but  never  found, 
And  died  at  length  within  the  tower 
Where  sit  we  at  this  very  hour. 

And  ever  since  his  maniac  voice 
Broke  jangling  discord  in  the  air, 
"Alice,"  is  echoed  everywhere. 


TO  MY  NAMESAKE. 


FORTUNE  and  fame  are  mine,  strange  chance, 

I  own! 

Deserving  neither,  I  may  claim 
Both  honors  in  thy  infant  name ! 

"Obscure,  unknown,"  I  cried,  "Ah  me!" 

And  dreamed, 

But  never  that  my  name  would  be 
Passed  downward  to  posterity  ! 

Yet  so  it  fell  about.     One  night 

A  soul, 

Whose,  none  can  tell,  came  down  to  earth 
Wrapped  in  the  circle  of  its  girth. 

Down  from  mysterious  heights  it  drew 

To  us, 

When,  by  some  subtle  power,  unknown, 
It  snapped  apart  the  virgin  zone, 


26  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

And  turned  from  life  of  chrysalid 

To  what, 

Though  small,  is  still  another  I, 
Which  must  into  expansion  fly, 

And  see  and  feel  and  think  and  speak 

Like  men  ; 

Be  just  as  much  what  others  are 
As  star  is  like  another  star. 

Well,  thanks  to  kindness,  thou  dost  bear 

My  name ; 

Not  for  the  name's  sake,  but  for  mine, 
And  for  the  sake  of  auld  lang  syne. 

Though  when  my  head  is  white,  wilt  thou 

Be  young. 

When  I  descend  the  hill — thy  feet 
Will  reach  new  paths  with  footsteps  fleet. 

Youth  will  thy  guardian  be — mine,  age. 

And  so, 

When  in  my  ear  no  voices  call, 
Thy  name  will  into  circles  fall. 

Some  blushing  maid  will  say  thy  name 

In  love; 

Will  write  it  down  full  oft,  and  stay 
Upon  each  writing  half  the  day  ; 

Think  what  a  perfect  name  to  have, 

Then  add, 

Shyly  enough,  though  no  one  sees, 
Such  words  as  may  her  fancy  please. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  27 

This  will  be  quite  reward  enough 

For  me, 

If,  watching,  I  can  speak  a  word 
That  by  my  namesake  shall  be  heard. 

If,  speaking  from  my  rugged  hill, 

I  know 

That  thou  shalt  listen  as  I  speak  : 
"Son,  look  above;  Christ's  kingdom  seek. 

"  There  is  no  joy  on  earth  but  His, 

No  peace; 

Let  Him  thine  own  possession  be, 
And  all  things  else  shall  come  to  thee." 


LOVE  FIRST. 


To  C. 

Do  you  remember  how,  one  tranquil  night, 
When  all  the  shore  along  where  eye  could  reach 
Tall  palms  cast  graceful  shadows  on  the  beach, 
And  spreading  oaks  hung  low  with  mystic  white, 
We  lay  us  down  on  beds  of  drifted  shells, 
And  listened  long  to  what  the  ocean  tells? 
How  waves  came  rolling  from  the  boundless  sea, 
With  thoughts  from  far  away  for  you  and  me, 
Of  life  and  love  and  of  eternity  ? 

Life  then  indeed  seemed  fair  and  sweet, 
Its  years,  like  passers  in  the  street, 
Met  thoughtless,  without  time  to  greet. 


28  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Love!  how  its  very  semblance  shone 

And  flashed  and  warmed.     Ah  !  had  we  known 

How  soon  its  ashes  would  he  sown! 

Eternity — the  sound  we  heard, 
Though  not  a  leaf  of  thought  it  stirred. 
The  sound  we  knew,  but  not  the  word. 

'Twas  circle  wide  to  us,  but  less 
Than  one  small  ring  of  tenderness 
Which  had  no  arc  of  bitterness. 

All  was  encompassed  by  that  ring 

Of  youthful  love;  its  power  could  fling 

Unreason  into  sentient  thing. 

You  put  the  pink  shell  to  my  ear, 
And,  pausing,  asked  me,  "  Do  you  hear 
These  ocean  whisperings  soft  and  clear?" 

"Love  first,"  was  murmured  in  the  shell, 
"Without  it,  death,  the  end,  may  well 
Come  knocking  at  your  mortal  cell. 

"  Love  is  the  essence  of  the  whole  ; 
Love  gave  to  man  his  living  soul, 
Guides,  leads,  directs  as  ages  roll. 

"  Love  is  the  mould  of  all  your  clay, 
And,  out  of  chaos,  in  one  day 
Draws  Psyche  from  the  far  away. 

"  Life  hears  the  call,  more  quick  obeys, 
And  runs  its  current  through  the  maze 
Of  roads  and  paths  and  winding  ways. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  29 

"Aye,  love  is  God;  love  could  alone 
Come  from  its  higher,  highest  throne 
With  bounteous  proffer  to  atone 

"  For  all  the  sin  that  hate  has  wrought, 
For  selfish  longing  bringing  naught 
But  evil  actions  from  the  thought. 

u  And  God  is  love;  he  sent  love  here 
To  aid,  to  strengthen,  and  to  cheer; 
To  make  himself  to  us  more  dear. 

"  First  love  thy  God,  he  first  loved  thee, 
Then  life  will  swift  within  thee  be, 
And  sweeten  thy  eternity. 

"Get  love  for  love,  and  life  for  life; 
Gladness  for  sorrow,  peace  for  strife; 
Rest  after  janglings  loud  and  rife. 

"  Love  thou  thy  neighbor — God  obey — 
Though  yet  he  hate  thee,  love  alway; 
Love  turneth  even  hate  away. 

"  And  she  who  loves  thee — love  her  well, 
For  such  is  love — its  broken  spell 
Has  in  it  all  the  pangs  of  hell." 

Then  ceased  the  voice  within  the  shell, 
And  I  remember,  as  the  moon  went  down, 
Its  crescent  dipping  in  the  ocean  blue, 

I  asked  the  meaning  of  the  voice,  but  you 

Were  lost  in  thought,  and  answered  with  a  frown, 

A  sentence  long  of  silence,  looking  down. 


30  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

TWO  CITIES. 

HERE  shall  I  rest,  upon  this  grassy  knoll, 
Where,  lying  prone  so  far  below,  the  great 
And  noisy  city  stretches  into  view, 
Keeping  along  the  mighty  river's  edge 
Like  clinging  child  unto  its  mother's  side; 
Wherein  are  living  men  and  moving  things 
That  crowd  and  jostle  forth  from  day  to  day, 
Among  the  turrets,  towers,  and  spires,  which  throw 
Their  heavy  shadows  on  the  surging  tide. 

Fit  place  to  rest,  for  nearer  yet  to  me 
Lies  now  a  city  of  the  dead.     Its  streets 
Run  here  and  there  by  habitations  dark; 
By  dim  mausoleum,  with  marbled  front, 
And  sculptured  tombs  of  brass  and  onyx  stone; 
By  monuments  whose  tall  tops,  rising,  lift 
Their  heads  above  the  trees,  and  glisten  there. 
No  voice  is  heard;  the  dead  speak  not  to  us 
Who  wear  a  flimsy,  changing  garb.     But  through 
The  clear  air  of  this  mild  September  day, 
The  sound  of  voices  falls  upon  my  ear,— 
Voices  of  mourners  who  have  come  to  lay 
Within  its  prison  place,  a  dear,  cold  form; 
And  through  the  broken  sobs,  I  hear  the  noise 
Of  falling  earth  upon  the  coffin  thrown, 
As  slowly  back  the  sad  procession  moves 
Down  to  the  lower  city  whence  it  came. 

Oh  !  strange,  that  side  by  side  these  cities  be, 
One  near  the  river's  edge,  the  other  high 


MISCELLANEOUS.  31 

Above  it,  on  the  reaching  mountain-top; 

One  full  of  living  sights  and  sounds,  and  fraught 

With  what  concerns  these  beating  hearts  of  ours; 

Labor  and  waiting,  love  and  hate  and  joy; 

Sin,  sorrow,  pain  and  longing;  deep  desire 

For  things  we  may  not  have:  the  other,  still 

And  silent,  holding  but  the  shapes  of  men 

Who  neither  wait  nor  work,  nor  love  nor  hate, 

But  lie  as  cold  and  motionless  as  are 

The  pulseless  stones  that  mark  their  resting-place. 

Oh!  it  is  strange  and  wonderful  to  see 

The  hastening,  anxious  throngs  of  men  which  pass 

Along  that  city's  street,  yet  stranger  far 

To  stand  among  the  speechless  slabs,  and  know 

That  thousands  rest  the're  dead  and  dumb,  who  ne'er 

Will  speak  again  betwixt  the  earth  and  sky, — 

Lord,  soldier,  martyr,  peasant,  priest,  and  sage, 

Mother  and  father,  lover,  wife  and  child, — 

Past  all  expression,  pain  or  joy,  and  safe 

In  awful  rest  within  trie  city's  walls. 

So  thus  the  days  go  by,  and  one  by  one 
From  out  the  city  of  the  living,  comes 
Some  weary  traveler  to  his  resting  stone. 
But  none  goes  back.     The  city  of  the  dead 
Will  not  refuse  a  home  to  anyone 
Who  seeks  it  there,  but  he  may  not  return, 
Nor  speak,  nor  sigh,  nor  tell  why  he  remains 
So  long  in  exile.     While  between  the  two 
I  sit  and  muse,  as  twilight  falls  on  both 
These  cities  of  the  living  and  the  dead, 


32  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

How  can  I  tell  in  which  most  mystery  lies, 
Or  whether  it  be  best  to  quietly  sleep 
Under  some  humble  mound,  or  battle  on 
Still  longer  for  a  breathing-place  with  men. 

Whether  or  not  it  be,  I  know  that  I 
Must  leave  the  living,  some  day,  for  the  dead; 
Pass  from  one  city  to  the  other,  up 
Perhaps  unto  some  mountain-top,  perhaps 
Down  in  some  valley,  to  my  endless  rest. 
So,  as  the  shadows  cluster  darkly  down 
O'er  grave-stone,  mound,  and  winding  path, 
I  nearer  feel  to  these  mysterious  things 
Than  to  the  twinkling  city  far  beneath. 
Mt.  Royal  Cemetery,  1882. 


PECCAVI. 


"  PECCAVI,"  cried  she,  as  she  fell 
Down  on  the  pavement  of  her  cell; 

"Peccavi,"  and  the  piteous  sound 
Rang  through  the  corridors  around. 

"Thou  God,  my  guardian,  draw  a-nigh, 
If  not,  Great  Spirit,  let  me  die; 
Thou  knowest  all,  and  unto  thee 
I  look  for  aid.     Oh,  comfort  me!" 

A  Vestal  was  she  once,  but  now 
Her  pledge  is  broken,  and  her  vow. 
Down  in  the  awful,  dismal  tomb 


MISCELLANEOUS.  33 

She,  living,  goes  to  meet  her  doom. 
Cold  from  the  wall  the  water  rains, 
The  warm  blood  curdles  in  her  veins. 

"O  holy  Spirit!"  hear  her  cry, 

"Bid  light  come  in  or  let  me  die. 

11 1  never  let  the  fires  go  out 
Upon  the  altars ;  and  about 
My  duties  e'er  I  faithful  was. 
I  did  obey  the  vestal  laws 
In  all  save  this :  One  lonely  day 
A  kind  and  dear  one  came  my  way; 
Long  had  we  loved,  and,  oh!  so  well, 
But,  Guardian,  need  I  further  tell? 

"  He  pressed  me  hard,  I  told  him  no, 
'T would  bring  us  only  pain  and  woe, 

Though  by  no  choice  of  mine  I  took 

The  vows  of  chastity ;  one  book 

Of  many  virgins  held  my  name, 

And  marriage  now  were  wrong  and  shame. 
'Depart/  I  cried;  'O  dear  one,  go; 

Thou  wouldst  not  ask>if  thou  didst  know.' 

"  Alas !  he  would  not  turn  away, 
Alas!  I  could  not  tell  him  nay. 
His  outstretched  arm,  his  deep  blue  eyes, 
Made  beautiful  by  sad  surprise, 
O'ercame  my  longing,  loving  heart, 
And  made  the  fatal  tear-drops  start. 
The  hour  of  weakness  came,  and  I 
Gave  what  my  heart  could  not  deny. 


34  VERSES  EROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"Father  of  Heaven,  was  this  wrong 
In  thy  great  sight,  when  all  along 
I  loved  him  more  than  lip  would  tell, 
More  than  ascetic  vows  could  quell? 
Thou  who  art  just,  oh,  judge,  I  pray 
In  thine  own  tender,  holy  way 
Of  this  my  sin,  not  his,  my  God, 
And  help  me  bear  thy  chastening  rod! 

"  If  'tis  thy  righteous  will  that  I 
Should  in  this  dreadful  dungeon  die ; 
If  I  deserve  such  punishment, 
And  none  forgive  and  none  relent, 
O  Jove,  my  Father,  let  me  feel 
Sweet  peace  within  me  gently  steal; 
Comfort  my  heart  in  this  dark  hour, 
And  guard  me  from  its  awful  pow'r." 
Ne'er  came  the  maiden  from  her  grave; 
Gods  that  she  worshipped  could  not  save. 
Her  lamp  burned  low;  her  food  was  gone; 
The  light  of  day  came  not  at  dawn; 
And  as  she  prayed,  One  whom  we  know 
Looked  on  his  stricken  child  below, 
And  calmed  the  heavings  of  her  breast, 
With  peace  from  His  eternal  rest. 


RELEASE. 
I. 

BEHIND  the  bars,  caged  in,  a  birdling  sang 
A  sorrowing,  plaintive  song; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  35 

"Freedom,"  the  words  in  quavers  rang, 
"Denied  to  me  is  wrong. 

How  much,  how  very  much  I  long 

To  use  these  idle  wings  and  fly 

Into  that  broad  and  open  sky ! 

"  The  world  without  me  lies  so  fresh  and  fair, 
So  wonderfully  grand; 
Its  flowers  and  trees  and  fragrant  air, 
Its  stretching  miles  of  land— 
A  gift  to  all  from  God's  own  hand — 
While  in  my  small,  small  cage  I  fret 
And  sing  for  what  I  cannot  get. 

"Why  keep  me  so?     Because  I  have  a  voice? 
Because  my  notes  are  clear? 
For  sing  I  must — I  have  no  choice; 
Though  I  should  glad  my  jailer's  ear, 
And  make  her  care  to  keep  me  here, 
Through  every  note  I  breathe  a  sigh, 
And  all  my  song  is  all  a  cry." 

Now  swiftly  to  the  pavement  stone 
The  cage  fell  down;  its  bird  had  flown; 
And,  soaring  toward  the  heavenly  blue, 
It  sang  a  carol  as  it  flew, 
Nor  saw  not  on  the  pavement  there 
Its  jailer  with  her  golden  hair, 
Her  trembling  lip  and  tearful  eye, 
Sob  for  her  pet  with  piteous  cry: 
"Oh,  darling  bird,  come  back  to  me 
Come,  my  own  little  birdie  be!" 


36  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

II. 

Within  its  bars,  caged  in,  a  sad  soul  lay, 

Crying  a  rending  song, 

Bearing  its  pain  from  day  to  day, 

Through  months  and  years  along, 

Yet  never  noticed  by  a  throng 

Of  dearest  friends  to  sob  or  sigh, 

But  softly  sing  as  days  went  by. 

Tho'  to  One  ear  the  song  seemed  full  of  pain, 

A  symphony  of  grief — 

Sweet,  calm,  and  low  in  every  strain, 

Yet  asking,  praying  for  relief 

Of  Him  who  makes  life  long  or  brief, 

With  words  and  tears:  "O  Father,  God, 

No  longer  chasten  with  thy  rod. 

"Beyond  me  lies  that  wondrous,  wide  expanse, 
So  great,  so  far,  so  high; 
For  it  my  bosom  throbs  and  pants, 
I  would  within  its  pastures  lie — 
Oh,  let  me  thither,  thither  fly ! 
Saviour,  I  would  but  view  thy  face 
And  leave  this  narrow,  prison  place." 

Now  from  two  bright  eyes,  just  at  eve, 
The  light  went  out.     Two  hands  did  leave 
Their  tasks,  and  fall  so  cold  and  still- 
Dead  servants  to  an  absent  will. 
Up  into  Heaven,  past  heavenly  blue, 
The  spirit  gladly,  quickly  flew, 
Nor  heard  there,  bending  o'er  her  clay, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  37 


An  agonizing  husband  pray: 
"  Oh,  darling,  do  not,  do  not  go  !- 
Without  thee  all  of  life  is  woe." 


GOD  RULES 


LET  the  earth  roll 

And  turn  upon  its  axis  round  and  round; 
Swing  through  the  awful  sea  of  space, 
Where  neither  height,  nor'breadth,  nor  depth  is  found; 
.  God  rules,  above,  around ! 

Darken  the  sky, 

From  north  to  south  in  banks  of  blackness,  send 
Live,  livid,  flashing  tongues  of  lightning  out; 
Crash  peals  of  thunder  on  from  end  to  end; 

God  rules  and  will  defend! 

Toss  up  the  sea, 

Into  a  hundred  horrid  heavings  dark, 
Which  groan  back  to  uncaverned  depths  beneath, 
Yet  from  above,  beyond,  far  heavens  arc, 

God  rules  and  guides  the  bark ! 

Let  anger  rise 

Within  the  heart  of  man,  and  words  of  gall 
Burn  out  their  way  between  his  whitened  lips; 
Let  friends  betray,  or  whatsoe'er  befall, 

God  rules,  and  loveth  all. 


38  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

MNEMOSYNE. 

STRETCHING  myself  upon  a  bed 
Of  beaten  sand  and  withered  moss, 

I  lay  full  length  and  watched  the  red 
Sun  send  its  rays  the  waves  across. 

A  charm  I  held  within  my  palm, 
And  clasped  it  tightly,  as  a  dream 

With  various  fancies,  fair  and  calm, 

Did  soon  my  wandering  thoughts  redeem. 

More  weary  grew  I,  till  there  came 
Entrancing  rhapsodies  of  sleep, 

To  whisper  sweet  things  in  the  name 
Of  her  whose  love  was  mine  to  keep. 

"Come,"  said  fair  Iris,  "take  my  hand; 

I  know  thy  great  desire  must  be 
To  view  some  islets  in  the  Land 
Unbounded  by  a  boundless  sea. 

"  I  know  thy  haunts,  and  everyone 

Has  seen  my  arch  prismatic  glow, 
When,  at  the  rising  of  the  sun, 
Light  fell  upon  the  mists  below; 

"  Or  when  the  moon  rose,  pale  and  fair, 

Up  from  her  mystic  hiding-place. 
And  gave  the  rain-drops  in  the  air 
The  color  of  her  cheerful  face. 

"Be  hopeful  thou,  and  follow  me; 
If  thou  wilt  but  my  wish  fulfill, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  39 

Sweet  Memory's  handmaid  into  thee 
Shall  all  her  wealth  of  charm  instill. 

"I  heard  thy  wishes,  and  thy  maid, 
Oft  have  I  seen  her  as  she  lay, 
Her  locks  disheveled,  not  afraid 

To  let  my  moon-beams  round  her  play, 

"  Disclosing  beauty  that  would  fill 

Thy  soul  with  trembling,  strange  delight, 
And  give  thee  thoughts  to  throb  and  thrill 
Thy  pulses  swift  from  morn  till  night. 

"Come  thro'  this  vale  of  twenty  years, 

Grown  up  with  weeds  and  bramble  vine. 
And  view  the  scene  which  now  appears ; 
Note  every  shade  and  every  line. 

"There,  on  a  grassy  slope,  and  near 

A  row  of  nonage  cherry  trees, 
Some  childish  forms  are  seen ;  they  rear 
A  hamlet  fit  for  chickadees. 

"  With  anxious  look  they  scheme  and  plan, 

To  make  their  home  the  very  best ; 
A  house  they  call  it,  and  again 

Add  something  to  the  growing  nest. 

"'Tis  made  of  broken  bough  and  limb, 

With  blossoms  hanging  down  between, 
Through  which  the  sunlight  pierces  dim, 
Resisted  by  a  roof  of  green. 

"Scan  well  their  faces— his  and  hers; 
List  to  their  laughing,  happy  play ; 


40  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

See  how  he  bids — how  she  demurs, 
But  how  he  always  has  his  way. 

"  Their  task  is  done,  and  so  they  sit, 

And  talk  in  quite  a  serious  way; 

Speak  often  with  a  wholesome  wit, 

Not  found  in  those  whose  heads  are  gray. 

"  Thou'rt  looking  at  her  auburn  hair, 

And  at  her  dark  and  lustrous  eyes, 
Low  saying — '  she,  so  sweet  and  fair'— 
I  know  it  well :  thy  look  belies. 

"But  follow  me  another  way 

Into  this  woody,  winding  path, 
Where  scarce  the  light  of  brightest  day 
Can  touch  the  lusty  aftermath. 

"Rememberest  thou  the  pretty  walk, 

The  grand  old  trees  which  met  above, 
Whose  leafy  branches  seemed  to  talk, 
And  sometimes  whisper,  of  their  love  ; 

"And  where,  beneath  a  rugged  tree, 
Of  many  limbs  and  fruitful  yield, 
Upon  the  soft  grass— list  to  me, 

Thou  hast  in  earnest  tones  appealed 

"Once  on  a  time — thou  but  a  youth, 
And  she  more  tender  far  in  years, 
To  whom  thou  saidst  enough,  in  truth, 
To  bring  the  blushes  and  the  tears? 

"Ah  !  now  I  see  upon  thy  cheek 

The  shadow  of  her  burning  blush. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  41 

It  must  be  so;  thou  dost  not  speak, 

But  whisperest  strangely,  'Hush  thee,  hush.' 

So  be  it  then,  and  now  farewell, 

Though  thou  hast  seen  but  half  my  span, 

Its  farther  limit  reaches  well 
Beyond  the  ken  of  any  man." 


I  starting  woke,  and  found  the  sun 
Had  sunk  behind  a  darkened  sea  ; 

The  wind  blew  cold  ;  a  fog  begun 
To  cast  its  dampness  over  me. 

Out  of  my  mind  the  fancies  went, 
Quick  from  my  hand  the  trinket  fell, 

And  as  my  homeward  steps  I  bent, 
I  thought  of  things  I  cannot  tell. 


THE  DYING  YEAR. 


IN  the  wide  hearth  the  fire  burned  bright, 
And  cast  about  a  shadowy  light, 

Fitful  but  cheery; 
While  close  beside  an  old  man  sat 
And  watched  the  figures  on  the  mat, 

Until  a-weary. 

His  locks  were  gray,  and  fell  about 
Shoulders  now  bent  which  once  were  stout, 
And  all  his  beard 


42  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Scrambled  along  his  sunken  chest, 
And  fell  upon  his  faded  vest, 
In  manner  weird. 

"  I  am  an  old  man,"  and  his  breath 
Had  in  it  quavering  notes  of  death, 

Trembling,  unsteady; 
Yet  spake  he  on :  "  My  end  draws  near, 
I  see  it  in  the  embers  here. 
But  I  am  ready. 

"  At  midnight  hour  my  knell  shall  come, 
And  life  within  be  stricken  dumb. 

Hark!  now  I  hear 

The  voice  of  him  who,  calling,  speaks 
In  my  deaf  ear,  and  cries  and  shrieks, 

'Lo!  I  am  here. 

<"  I  am  the  new  prince,  get  thee  hence, 
Thou  wrinkled,  old  Experience, 

Go  to  thy  lot; 

For  I  am  king,  if  thou  be  seer, 
And  I  will  rule  through  all  my  year 
In  act  and  thought.' 

"  I  see  down  in  the  embers  red 
Pictures  of  scenes  that  now  are  fled, 

Of  days  when  I  was  young, 
And  sang  so  merrily,  and  laughed 
As  from  my  bowl  I  gaily  quaffed 

The  wine  by  muses  sung. 

"  Much  have  I  done  for  all  of  you, 
Much  heard  of  sayings  false  and  true, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  43 

And  oft,  as  well, 

Brought  life  and  death  into  one  ring, 
A  theft  and  then  an  offering, 

For  so  the  embers  tell. 

"Rejoicings  have  I  seen,  and  mirth 
Attend  the  advent  of  a  birth, 

With  laughing  smile; 
Then,  ere  the  joy  had  spent  its  breath, 
I  saw  the  bloodless  face  of  death 

And  funeral  pile. 

"  So  shall*  it  be  when  this  new  king 
Is  old  as  I,  and  everything 

Leads  on  to  swift  decay; 
When  locks  are  white,  and  voice  is  low; 
When  life  is  but  an  empty  show, 
And  youth  has  fTown  away." 

Now  faint  and  fainter  grew  the  light; 
The  embers  darkened  into  night ; 

No  shadows  fell; 
Till,  suddenly,  a  dying  spark 
Shot  up  the  chimney,  thro'  the  dark, 

While  peal  of  bell 

Cried  out  its  notes  at  midnight  hour, 
Down  from  the  turret  of  the  tower, 

Far,  and  around, 

Pealing  in  joy,  "Our  prince  is  here;" 
Tolling  in  grief,  "Farewell,  old  year," 

One  echoing  sound. 
December,  1887-88. 


44  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

A  MOTHER'S  LOVE 


[A  few  months  ago  an  execution  took  place  in  the  town 
of  S.,  where  I  was  staying.  The  unfortunate  man  was  a 
person  about  thirty  years  old,  his  only  living  relative  being 
his  mother,  then  seventy  years  of  age.  After  the  sentence 
of  death  had  been  passed,  the  old  woman  seemed  almost 
heart-broken,  yet  she  prayed  and  entreated  for  pardon.  She 
obtained  a  number  of  names  to  her  requisition — it  was  pit 
iful  to  see  with  what  an  eager  joy  she  received  each  signa 
ture— -and  sent  her  petition  to  the  Governor.  After  this 
the  mother  returned  home  some  hundred  miles  distant, 
without  a  doubt  as  to  the  success  of  her  effort.  But  the 
fatal  day  came  with  no  pardon,  and  the  widow's  unfortunate 
boy  atoned  for  his  dreadful  crime.  She  came  with  bending, 
tottering  form  alone,  and  returned  alone,  sacredly  guarding 
her  precious  charge  with  all  the  love  of  a  mother's  immacu 
late  devotion.] 

NOT  a  sad  brow  in  all  the  throng, 
No  mellowed  voice,  but  cruel  jeers, 
There  were  to  take  the  place  of  tears; 
Death  must  requite  the  felon's  wrong. 

Ah !  these  are  brutes,  not  men,  who  stand 
To  wait  and  watch  in  jest  and  fun, 
The  trembling  steps,  the  shame  of  one 
Who  now  gives  what  his  sins  demand. 

What  still?  can  man  give  more  than  all, 
Will  life  and  breath  not  yet  atone, 
Could  not  the  murderer  die  alone 
And  leave  the  wormwood  and  the  gall? 


MISCELLANEOUS.  45 

No ;  he  must  take  the  bitter  cup, 
Stand  and  be  firm  before  that  gaze; 
He  faltering  stands,  but  see!  he  prays 
For  strength  to  drink  the  poison  up! 

And  now  the  hangman's  work  is  done, 
His  pulseless  victim  lies — all  white, 
His  eyelids  quivering  in  the  light, 
His  fingers  purpling  in  the  sun. 

No  pity!   not  a  one  to  sigh! 

Does  no  heart  Borrow  o'er  this  pall, 

This  retribution  of  a  fall? 

Is  it  then  nothing  thus  to  die? 

Yes,  one  alone  weeps;  hear  her  cry, 
Full,  full  of  anguish  and  of  woe. 
Has  ever  woman  suffered  so, 
Since  God  of  mercy  ruled  on  high? 

Alone  the  feeble  mother  stands 
Beside  the  body  of  her  boy, 
He  who  was  once  her  love  and  joy, 
To  close  his  eyes  and  fold  his  hands. 

Her  head  bends  low,  the  tears  fall  fast, 
Her  wrinkled  hands  clasp  his  again, 
And  in  the  anguish  of  her  pain 
She  falls  insensible  at  last. 

Poor  mother,  now  thy  boy  is  dead, 
His  guardian  must  thou  be  in  death, 
As  when  he  drew  his  infant  breath, 
And  from  thy  willing  bounty  fed. 


46  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

And  that  which  kept  him  in  his  youth, 
And  sang  him  often  into  sleep; 
That  often  did  his  vigils  keep, 
Was  love  which  must  prevail,  like  truth. 

No  common  love  can  such  love  be, 
For  with  it  can  no  love  compare; 
It  is  than  precious  jems  more  rare, 
And  yet  'tis  boundless  as  the  sea. 

A  mother's  love — who  has  not  known 
The  beauty  of  its  holy  light, 
That  shines  alike  by  day  or  night, 
With  gaining  strength  though  older  grown. 
San  Francisco,  February,  1885.  • 


PSYCHE. 


I. 

WHAT  soul  is  this  that  has  come  down  to  our  earth  to-day, 
Perfect,  immortal,  unchanging,  changeless  forever? 

How  came  it  thence  and  thus  from  its  home  so  far  away, 
Where  beginning  ne'er  was  and  ending  is  never? 

Why,  coming  down,  must  it  serve  and  obey  like  a  slave, 
Be  what  a  casket,  perishing,  imperfect,  would  make  it? 

Tossing  'twixt  fear  and  pain;  pressed  like  the  wave 
When  the  wind  and  the  storm  in  fury  o'ertake  it. 

Taken  from  high  estates  unto  a  low  one;  held 

Prisoner  within  the  dank  walls  of  dust,  earth,  and  clay  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  47 

Wonder  'tis  not  our  spirits  have  cried,  have  rebelled, 

Have  shouted  and  shrieked  for  some  light  of  the  hidden  day. 

Buried  and  dungeoned  in  cavern  and  cave,  in  the  dark, 
Indiscerptible  souls  are  in  this  discerptible  dust; 

An  essence  of  purity,  goodness,  and  truth — near  the  stark 
•Naked  forms,  shameless  postures  of  lies,  hate  and  lust. 

Idiots,  insane,  sick,  the  deformed,  helpless  and  maimed, 

Given  for  slave  what  is  higher  than  angels  in  Heaven ; 
Used  and  reused  for  things  that  can  never  be  named ; 

Used  and  reused  for  the  devil  seven  days  out  of  seven. 

II. 
To  the  soul  belong  joy,  faith,  peace,  goodness,  and  love, 

Temperance,  meekness  and  charity,  deep  hatred  of  strife, 
For  coming  from  Him,  it  is  His,  and  like  Him  above 

Why  should  it,  why  should  it  be,  a  part  of  such  life? 

III. 
In  the  arm,  and  the  hand,  and  the  eye,  and  the  ear,  and  the 

tongue, 
Sin  lives,  and  flows  thro'  the  veins,  and  quivers  the  nerves 

along, 
Though  it  shine  and  glitter  like  the  stones  it  was  written 

there  hung 

In  some   goblin's    cave,  it  is  crime — it  is  shame — it  is 
wrong. 

For  the  works  of  the  flesh  are  hatred,  revenge,  and  ill, 
Idolatry,  selfishness,  revilings,  and  envy  and  wrath, 

Emulations,  drunkenness,  seditions,  a  murderous  will; 
These  are  the  thorns  of  flesh,  these  are  the  thorns   the 
soul  hath. 


48  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

IV. 

And  the  only  joy  of  the  soul  is  the  day  of  our  death, 

When  this  burden  of  clay  shall  fall ;  when  the  soul  may  fly 

On  the  wings  of  a  never-returning  breath, 

To  its  home,  where  is  nothing  that  maketh  a  lie. 


SILENCE. 


To  DR.  S. 

AH,  yes!  silence  is  eloquent,  and  tells 
To  you  and  me  of  things  we  cannot  say 
Jn  the  poor  language  of  this  shallow  world. 
As  when  the  day  of  parting  comes,  and  I 
Clasp  all  your  hand  in  mine,  and,  in  your  eye, 
Look  to  the  deepening  depths  of  your  great  soul, 
Seeing  there  more  than  all  our  pens  could  write 
On  all  the  paper  made,  or  to  be  made. 

As  when  the  lover  gazeth  upon  her 

Who  rests  her  head  upon  his  throbbing  heart, 

And  gazeth  silently,  yet  speaketh  not. 

Silence  is  language  of  the  soul,  and  speaks 

Ne'er  so  a  third  can  he'ar,  nor  does  it  sound 

Through  air,  or  to  the  ear  of  any  man. 

It  comes  as  light  comes  to  the  mountain-top, 

Or  as  those  shadows,  falling  on  its  side, 

Is,  yet  is  not,  like  space  which  holds  our  worlds; 

Is  nothing  of  itself,  and  has  no  form, 

No  bulk,  no  magnitude,  nor  anything. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  49 

When,  after  all  the  peals  of  music  deep, 
Which  issued  from  the  organ  loft,  there  comes 
An  end,  you  still  can  hear,  so  low  and  sweet, 
Within  your  soul  the  same  notes  o'er  again, 
With  variation  added,  and  you  know 
That  silence  is  the  mother  of  the  strain. 

In  the  great  aisle  of  some  cathedral  dark, 
When  night  has  come  and  not  a  soul  is  near, 
Listen  you  well  to  silence,  which  shall  speak 
Unto  your  heart  as  never  spake  there  man. 
Or,  move  out  to  the  graves  that  lie  as  still 
As  children  sleeping  when  the  day  has  fled. 
Sit  down  awhile  and  catch  the  thrill  that  runs, 
Like  some  electric  current,  to  your  soul, 
Bringing  you  thought  on  thought,  until  your  mind 
Flows  over,  and  you  break  the  magic  spell, 
By  breaking  silence  in  some  uttered  word. 

What  made  the  harps  that  weary  wanderers  hung 

Up,  on  the  willows,  in  the  olden  time 

By  Babylonian  rivers,  yet  convey 

More  thrilling  notes,  and  deeper  music  far 

Than  when  their  many  strings  were  fingered  o'er 

And  strung  ?     Or  why  should  all  the  world,  and  you, 

Not  hear  Tiara's  harp  till  silence  struck 

Her  trembling  fingers  on  its  every  cord? 

Who  cannot  shake  the  air  with  words  and  words 

And  cast  them  in  your  ear  ?     But  gods  have  oft 

Not  able  been  to  even  guard  their  lips 

From  speaking  into  death  their  dearest  hope 

And  wish.     So  thus  the  brooklet  babbles  on, 


0?  THB 

tHTIVERSITT1 
ft 


50  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

And  tells  a  shallow  tale  to  every  man, 
While  on  the  noble  river  deepening  flows, 
And  silent  is.     No  man  shall  know  how  deep 
The  river  runs,  until  he  come  and  see. 

And  now  thought  to  the  outward  ear  speaks  not, 

Though  thought  is  father  of  the  universe,— 

Sea,  air,  sky,  rocks,  and  earth  but  children  are 

Of  this  great  silent  Thought  that  speaks  to  you 

Alone,  or  me  alone,  but  never  speaks 

So  you  and  I  can  learn  at  once  the  word. 

And  what  are  words  to  thought?     As  moon  to  sun, 

Night  unto  day,  and  hate  to  loving  are. 

Silence  is  like  to  faith,  and  words  to  works. 

Both  words  and  works  but  hint  the  wondrous  power 

Of  faith  and  silence,  for  it  hath  been  told 

That  silence  is  the  language  of  the  gods. 


THE  CLOCK  AND  THE  OWL. 


ON  two  shelves  in  his  office  a  banker  once  kept, 

Cheek  by  jowl, 

A  clock  and  an  owl. 

The  former  for  use  and  the  latter  for  show, 

A  hollow  pretence  one,  of  feathers,  you  know; 

An  owl  stuffed  with  sawdust,  but  looking  as  well 

As  though  it  were  sleeping  at  noon  in  the  dell. 

Just  as  wise  as  a  being  can  possibly  look, 

Who  never  wears  glasses  nor  reads  from  a  book. 

But  one  night  very  late,  when  the  bank  lights  were  out, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  5 1 

The  owl  called  the  clock  a  pestiferous  lout, 
A  thing  quite  uncalled  for,  especially  when 
Polite  to  its  partner  the  time-piece  had  been. 
"Oh,  when  will  you  cease,"  sneered  the  owl  with  a  mock, 
'"With  your  endless  twaddle  and  tiresome  talk; 
Cease  holding  the  minutes  of  every  hour 
Like  some  old  gauge  holds  the  drops  of  a  shower. 
What  good  is  it  all,  I  would  like  to  know, 
To  measure  out  minutes  just  so  and  so  ? 
You  stand  on  the  shelf  and  all  through  the  night 
Your  pendulum  sways  from  left  hand  to  right, 
And  your  hands  are  held  up  to  your  sallow  face, 
Like  a  child  that  has  fallen  into  disgrace. 
Not  often  one  deigns  to  hear  what  you  say, 
Tho'  sometimes  'tis  done  in  a  casual  way; 
But  often  I  see,  and  oft  have  I  heard, 
That  no  one  has  taken  or  trusted  your  word. 
As  you  point  to  the  hour  and  strike  it  again, 
They  will  look  at  their  watches,  both  women  and  men." 

"Sneer  and  talk  all  you  will, 
I  shall  tick  on  still, 
Though  you  snap  out  more  wrath  from   your  crooked 

bill 

I  am  doing  my  duty,  while  you,  ugly  owl, 
Have  nothing  to  do  but  to  grumble  and  growl, 
And  all  through  the  day 
Not  a  word  will  you  say, 

But  make  people  think,  with  your  large,  open  eyes, 
You  are  learned  and  knowing  and  wondrously  wise. 

"  I  am  plain,  I  confess  it,  my  hands  both  are  coarse, 


52  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

And  my  voice  very  often  is  husky  and  hoarse. 
Then,  fearing  my  memory,  I  tick  through  the  night, 
So  the  hours  of  the  day  be  kept  proper  and  right, 
For  I  never  go  wrong— you  may  ask  whom  you  will, 
And  this  is  the  reason  I  never  keep  still. 

"The  busy  consult  me;  the  idle  I  warn 
By  showing  how  quickly  the  eve  follows  morn, 
By  counting  each  moment  of  time  as  it  goes, 
By  telling  it  over,  when  everyone  knows. 
If  I  ticked  only  hours,  the  world  would  go  by 
Like  a  ship  on  the  sea  or  a  cloud  in  the  sky, 
And  life  would  escape  without  thought  or  endeavor, 
And  minutes  and  seconds  be  lost  us  forever. 
But  now  every  second  I  call  men  to  work, 
With  all  of  twice  sixty  less  chances  to  shirk. 

'  Come,  come,'  so  I  call,  and  they  haste  to  obey; 

'  Come,  come,'  every  second  I  solemnly  say, 
Though,  totals  deceive  us,  the  details  will  tell       ' 
Us  fairly  our  standing,  you  know  very  well. 
Our  fortunes  by  dollars  may  quickly  be  told, 
But  by  mills  and  by  dimes  will  they  greatly  unfold. 

"You  sneer  at  my  duties  and  think  they  are  small, 
Because  you  are  idle,  and  have  none  at  all, 
But,  sphinx-like,  you  stand  on  your  pedestal  shelf, 
Puffed  up  and  all  ruffled  with  glorious  self. 
You  are  laid  on  the  shelf  in  more  senses  than  one; 
If  you  ever  were  useful,  your  mission  is  done. 

"When  the  banker  comes  down  in  the  morning,  he  looks 
At  my  face  just  a  second,  then  takes  out  his  books, 
For  at  seven  precisely  my  orders  I  get, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  53 

And  never  one  order  I  shirk  or  forget. 

If  you  think  I  am  useless  keep  awake  for  one  day, 

And  see  how  they  watch  me  and  hear  what  I  say. 

At  six  one  consults  me  and  sweeps  off  the  floor; 

At  ten  one  consults  me,  then  opens  each  door; 

So  they  quiz  me  and  ask  me  '  what  hour,'  all  the  day, 

And  the  answer  I  give  them  they  never  gainsay." 

"Oh !  you  are  for  labor,"  the  sage  owl  replied, 
And  puffed  up  his  feathers  in  anger  and  pride; 

"No  gentleman,  truly,  I  have  at  my  side. 
I  knew  by  your  talk  you  belonged  to  the  rabble. 
I  pity  you  now — but  continue  your  babble  ; 
Pay  no  notice  to  me,  yes,  talk  when  I  talk, 
You  miserable,  garrulous,  plebian  clock. 
Though  they  quiz  you  and  hear  you,  oh!  do  not  believe 
Their  questions  you  answer  or  their  minds  you  relieve, 
For  each  question  they  ask  you,  they  give  me  a  wink, 
As  much  as  to  say,  '  Now  what  do  you  think, 
He's  a  babbling  old  fool  and  he  never  keeps  still, 
But  let  him  go  on  while  there's  gold  in  the  till ; 
You  are  Capital,  friend,  that  fellow  is  Labor, 
We  are  catering  now  for  his  vote,  O  my  neighbor.' 

"  So  what  are  you  here  beside  me,  little  clock, 
Though  you  think  you  are  much,  and  chatter  and  talk? 
They  respect  me  and  fear  me,  but  you  they  can  use; 
If  me  they  neglect,  you  they  often  abuse; 
In  this  bank  I  for  money,  you  for  labor  do  stand, 
I  for  dollars  and  cents,  you  for  muscle  and  hand. 


54  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

But  I'll  lose  no  more  wit  on  you  ticking  old  thing, 
I  am  tempted  to  push  you  plumb  off  with  my  wing, 
I  can  do  it  so  quickly  and  well  if  I  like  — 
There  !  you're  wheezing  and  rattling  and  off  on  a  strike." 

"  I  would  rather  be  something  than  stand  for  a  billion; 

You  are  poor,  boastful  owl,  though  your  master   has 
million. 

What  are  being  and  doing  to  having,  I  wonder, 

As  fire  is  to  smoke,  or  as  lightning  to  thunder ! 
'  Time  is  money,'  we  say,  yet  you  scorn  time  and  labor; 

Beware  of  your  sawdust  and  feathers,  O  neighbor!" 

"More  room  do  I  want,"  said  the  banker  one  day; 

"  I  must  move  this  old  owl  or  our  timepiece  away, 
The  owl  we  can  spare,  but  we  cannot  the  clock." 
So  they  took  down  the  owl  with  its  shelf  and  its  block, 
And  put  them  away  in  the  vault  with  the  money, 
Up  high  in  the  corner,  oh!  wasn't  it  funny? 


THE  THRONG. 


IN  a  strange  city, 

With  no  one  to  greet  you, 
No  one  to  love, 

Though  many  to  meet  you, 
Hurrying  and  rushing,  the  crowd  moves  along, 
An  anxious,  a  busy,  a  marvelous  throng. 

No  one  to  look  down 
In  sympathy  cheering, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  55 

No  one  to  give 

You  a  word  of  endearing, 

Though  you  be  starving  to  love  and  be  cherished, 
Seem  heart  and  love  among  men  to  have  perished. 

See  there  a  sweet  face, 

With  eyes  soft  and  tender! 
Will  not  his  crying 

For  pity  unbend  her? 

Ah,  no!  she  casts  but  a  glance  at  his  tatters, 
Then  turns  away  to  less  troublesome  matters. 

What  is  a  beggar 

Here,  crying  for  pity  ? 

Hundreds  are  standing 

All  over  the  city, 

Yet  hurrying,  rushing,  the  crowd  moves  along, 
A  selfish,  a  cruel,  a  passionless  throng. 

Suicides,  murders, 

Oh,  terrible  trifling, 
How  can  I  stay  here, 

The  air  is  so  stifling! 

Come  away,  soul,  from  these  scenes  of  disaster, 
Come  to  the  mountain  and  rest,  like  the  Master. 
San  Francisco,  CaL,  November,  1885. 


MY  CHOICE. 


WITHIN  her  soft,  pink  hand 
She  held  a  lily,  pure  and  white. 


56  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Its  pistils  trembled  at  her  heart's 

Each  joyous  pulse-beat,  quick  and  light. 
Like  babe  asleep  it  lay  so  still, 
Breathing,  yet  without  breath  or  will. 

She  held  it  up  to  me, 

The  lily  in  her  lily  hand, 
And  of  the  two  full  well  I  knew 

Which  would  my  praises  best  demand. 
I  looked  upon  them  both,  and  thought 
Ne'er  fairer  workmanship  was  wrought. 

One  liveth  not — but  one 

Is  pink  and  warm,  and  can  obey 

The  dictates  of  a  higher  will, 

Though  be  it,  like  the  flow'r,  of  clay; 

Much  can  it  grant,  and  much  express 

Of  love,  or  aid,  or  willingness. 

"/'//  take  the  get n  away^ 

Now  spoke  a  voice  reproachfully; 
"I  cannot  hold  it  here  for  you 

To  simply  gaze  upon,  nor  say 
What  beauty  has  it  in  your  eye, 
So  then,  indifferent  man,  good-bye." 

"Stay,  my  fair  friend,"  I  cried, 

"Thought  took  all  power  of  speech  away, 
I  saw  what  was  so  beautiful, 

More  came  to  me  than  I  could  say; 
I  know  the  flower  may  pretty  be, 
But  lovelier  far  the  hand  to  me. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  57 

"For  seeing  both,  I  thought 

How  much  the  hand  more  than  the  flower 
Seems  beautiful.     Knowing  how  great, 

In  deeds  of  kindness,  is  its  power; 
How  thro'  it  all  the  current  red 
Flows  from  the  heart  and  from  the  head." 

The  maid's  cheek  crimson  grew, 

She  did  not  mean  her  hand,  she  said, 

But  what  lay  in  its  hollowed  palm; 

Then  tossed  aloft  her  haughty  head  : 
"I  meant  the  lily,  not  the  hand; 

How  hard  for  men  to  understand!" 

But  obstinate  I  stood, 

I  would  not  understand  at  all, 
Until  the  hand  I  firmly  held — 

Her  hand,  so  warm  and  soft  and  small, 
Nor  did  I  let  it  go  till  she 
Had  given  it  away  to  me. 


SINCERITY. 


IF  you  think  so,  say  so, 

Do; 
I  would  rather  'twere  said, 

If  true. 

Tis  better  to  take  the  rough  thorn  out, 
Than  to  fret  and  whine  and  cry  about 

The  pain  which  it  gives  to  you. 


58  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

If  'tis  a  thought  you  hate, 

Now,  pray, 
Treat  it  with  scorn  and  scowl; 

For  we  may 

Sometimes  have  thoughts  that  we  do  not  love, 
Which  come  from  below,  and  not  above,— 
From  night-time  and  not  from  day. 


are  but  crows  that  fly 
Along 
Into  our  pure,  white  air. 

Soon  a  song- 

Bird  may  follow  and  sweetly  sing, 
And,  dove-like,  pass  over  the  croaking  thing, 
As  Right  flies  over  Wrong. 

Blame  you  I  never  would  — 

No, 
Not  for  a  strayward  thought, 

For  I  know 

There  are  thoughts  that  wander  about  for  homes; 
They  are  stalking  shadows  of  ugly  gnomes, 
Which  travel  to  and  fro. 

Bony  and  gaunt  and  thin, 

Dead 
To  loving  and  peace  and  joy; 

They  are  wed 

By  angry  ghosts  to  the  sprites  of  hell, 
And  their  breed,  how  monstrous,  I  cannot  tell, 
By  monsters  bred. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  59 

True  thoughts  are  like  the  rain, 

Fresh, 
Down  from  the  clouds  of  heav'n. 

Poor  flesh 

And  blood  have  not  many  to  spare — 
Some,  sometimes,  there  are,  but  rare,  rare,  rare, 
And  mixed  in  a  mixed-up  mesh. 


JEALOUSY. 


OF  all  the  wicked  sins  that  keep 

Down  in  the  sinful  heart  of  man, 

Of  all  the  monsters  of  the  deep, 

Of  all  the  horrid  things  that  creep 

In  Ashantee  or  Hindostan, 

None  are  so  falsely,  fiercely  wild 

As  this  Briareus-handed  child, 

This  jealous  wrath  that  sets  the  heart  on  fire, 

And  rakes  the  burning  coals  of  base  desire. 

Truly  'tis  said  to  be  the  sin 

Of  an  ignoble,  selfish  mind, 

That  seeks  no  gentler  grace  to  win, 

But  gladly  lets  the  baser  in 

So  it  possessorship  may  find, 


60  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

While  wholesome  word  and  action  die, 
And  all  the  holier  promptings  fly. 
Thus  jealous  anger  does  its  direful  work 
And  stabs  brave  manhood  with  a  subtile  dirk. 

Look  through  the  records  of  the  past, 

Down  through  the  history  dark  of  Rome; 

Think  but  a  moment  of  the  vast 

Recorded  crimes,  like  raging  blast 

That  sweep  before  its  Arching  Dome! 

To  jealous  spirit  trace  may  we 

Their  murder,  hate,  and  tyranny, 

In  ancient  king  or  haughty  autocrat, 

'Neath  jeweled  crown  or  laboring  peasant's  hat. 

Through  England's  line  of  rulers  vain, 
Through  all  the  deadly  throes  of  France, 
Through  centuries  that  wax  and  wane 
In  sad  degrees  of  strife  and  pain, 
Through  secret  stab  or  open  lance, 
We  see  the  shape  of  that  dark  face 
Grin  from  its  gloomy,  dismal  place, 
Cast  deep  its  lurid,  burning  gaze,  and  bring 
All  other  shades  to  its  own  coloring. 

When  Juno  jealous  grew,  she  wrought 

With  other  gods  her  jealous  spite; 

How  to  revenge  she  planned  and  thought, 

Evil  continually  she  brought — 

Nor  ever  after  knew  delight, 

But,  dwelling  with  the  selfish  elf, 

Grew  into  bitterness  itself. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  61 

So  anciently,  when  one  had  sinned,  they  sent 
Waters  of  jealousy  for  punishment. 

Twas  this  that  filled  the  heart  of  Cain 

With  hate  instead  of  tender  love ; 

That  gave  fire  to  his  maddened  brain  ; 

That  bade  him  call  aloud  in  vain 

To  God  for  blessings  from  above, 

Till,  ruled  by  jealousy,  he  killed 

His  brother  Abel — basely  spilled 

The  life-blood  of  his  kinsman  to  the  ground, 

And  gained  a  heavy  burden  for  the  wound. 

Busiris  righteous  was  beside 

A  jealous  spirit  in  the  heart ; 

For  only  evil  'twill  betide, 

Nor  with  it  e'er  can  good  abide ; 

It  bids  kind  Charity  depart, 

And,  like  the  tyrant,  it  will  feed 

Pure,  tender  feelings  to  its  greed. 

O  man,  beware,  let  not  the  tempter  nigh; 

Pray  God  he  keep  thee  from  its  evil  eye ! 


A  CAROL. 


THE  first  sweet  Christmas,  when  a  Saviour's  birth 
Came,  like  the  light  of  dawn,  from  heav'n  above, 

Bringing  good-will  to  men  and  peace  to  earth, 
With  blessed  tidings  of  a  Father's  love, 


62  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Wise  men  from  far  came  to  the  lowly  bed 

On  which  the  King  of  Peace,  uncrowned,  lay; 

Gave  treasures  rich,  then,  with  uncovered  head, 
In  rev'rence  bow'd.  and  gave  their  hearts  away. 

And  as  night,  dark'ning  o'er  the  wide  plains,  fell, 
Touch'd  every  sloping  foot-hill  far  and  near, 

While  all  was  still,  save  when  some  tinkling  bell 
Rang  its  clear  notes  upon  the  shepherd's  ear, 

Light  flash'd  in  darkness:  and  a  rushing  sound 
Of  many  voices,  full  and  rich  and  strong, 

Shook  all  the  waves  of  air,  fell  to  the  ground, 
And  through  the  plains  and  valleys  rolled  along. 

"Fear  not,"  the  angels  sang,  ';  for  there  is  born 

Unto  you  all  this  day  a  Saviour  King, 
As  to  the  darkness  is  the  rising  morn, 
So  unto  you  is  He;  arise  and  sing.'' 

Then  all  the  shepherds  sang  with  mighty  voice, 
"A  Saviour  unto  us  is  born,  rejoice!  rejoice!'' 
And  yet  the  music  floated  down  again, 
•'Yea,  peace  for  earth  is  and  good- will  to  men, 

Rejoice,  a  Lord  is  born,  rejoice,  rejoice." 
Yule  Tide,  1886. 

o 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD. 


UP  and  down, 
High  and  low, 
Broad  and  narrow, 
Fast  and  slow, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  63 

Plough  and  harrow, 
Fade  and  blow. 
Life  and  death, 
First  and  last, 
Beginning  and  end, 
Present  and  past. 
So  they  blend 
And  contrast. 
Coming  and  going, 
Reaping  and  sowing, 
Laughing  and  crying 
Living  and  dying; 
All  in  one  day, 
Here,  and  away. 
Shifting  and  shifting. 
Drifting  and  drifting, 
Onward  we  go; 
In  changes,  forever, 
We  meet  and  we  sever, 
For  gladness  or  woe. 


TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND. 

THE  diamond  is  not  found  encas'd  with  gold, 
Nor  are  pearls  hidden  in  a  showy  case; 

Fortunes,  we  know,  are  buried  in  the  mould, 
And  truths  upheld  in  many  an  untow'rd  place. 

Look,  then,  within;  yes,  far  within 

The  outer  mouldings  of  this  clay, 
There  lives  what  will  affection  win, 

The  soul  it  is — the  heart,  we  say. 


64  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Tis  hidden  deep,  perhaps,  but  thou 
Mays't  polish  off  the  rough  without; 

Thy  small,  soft  fingers  well  know  how 
To  bring  the  much  desired  about. 

EVENA. 


"Qsys  sfc  &-a  fW-v." 

THEY  do  not  flash,  her  eyes, 
But  they  sparkle  and  shine, 

Reflecting  the  kindly  light 
Of  a  soul  divine; 

I  wish — I  have  often  wished — 
Their  dark  orbs  were  mine. 

Mine  to  look  into — and 
Mine,  to  have  love  express, 

With,  oh!  such  a  wealth  and  power 
Of  deep  tenderness; 

With  virtue  to  cheer,  I  know, 
And  comfort  and  bless. 

Better  than  words  they  speak 
Out  what  the  heart  would  say, 

Bidding  me  wait  and  hope 
Till  another  day — 

When  clouds  which  threaten  low 
Have  all  cleared  away. 

s\ 

PROVIDENCE. 


WE  sow  the  seed,  and  we  may  reap 
The  harvest  flower, 


UNIVERSITY 


f"£yv~','i ' 


IN     OUR     LAND 


MISCELLANEOUS.  65 

But  God  alone  can  watch  and  keep; 
Lo!  when  our  eyelids  droop  in  sleep 
He  sends  the  shower. 


IN  OUR  LAND. 


BRIGHT  days  have  we  in  our  land  so  fair, 
No  frost  ever  breathes  through  the  balmy  air, 
Snow  and  ice  we  chain  to  their  mountain  lair, 
And  sunshine  is  radiant  everywhere. 
And  the  skies  are  blue  all  over  the  land, 

Over  valley  and  hill ; 
Beautiful  blossoms  on  every  hand 
Open  their  treasures  at  our  demand, 

And  the  wafted  air 

Is  freighted  with  odors  sweet  and  rare, 
Of  laurel,  acacia,  jessamine, 
Myrtle,  marjoram,  wild  eglantine, 
Lily  and  orange  and  lavender. 


CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 

(To  JAMIE.) 

AGAIN  the  sea  of  time  reaches  our  shore 
With  its  full  tide  of  joy  and  cheer, 

Bearing  up  to  us  ships  of  tokens — more 
The  lasting  trophies  of  a  Christmas  year. 

5 


66  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

And  as,  when  waves  roll  back,  there  lie 
Shells,  mosses,  stones,  and  coral  rare, 

For  some  to  take,  and  by  and  by 
Keep  as  mementoes  sweet  and  fair, 

So  the  full  wave  of  Christmas-tide 
Bears  down  upon  us  all  to-day, 

Bringing  dear  tokens  to  our  side 
For  us  to  take  and  lay  away, 

To  treasure  in  our  hearts  their  worth, 
Not  for  themselves  but  what  they  show, 

Love  for  each  other — what  on  earth 
Greater  or  better  could  we  know? 

It  is  not  then  for  treasure  rich 
We  ask  now  at  this  happy  time, 

But  only  words  of  sweet  assurance,  which 
Are  tokens  of  a  love  sublime, 

Sublime  because  'tis  true  and  deep ; 

Precious  because  'tis  pure, 
Oh!  such  a  love  will  surely  keep 

Our  hearts  and  minds  secure! 

If  the  great  sea  would  try  to  bring 
A  fitting  token  of  its  might, 

The  grandeur  of  its  offering 
Would  startle — not  delight. 

Mine  then  a  token  is,  but  small, 

For  our  great  love  cannot  a  token  find ; 

To  search  one  out  would  only  pall, 
And  turn  expression  blind. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  67 

The  sun  sends  down  a  joyful  gleam, 

Why  not  be  happy  as  the  birds; 
The  skies  are  beautiful,  and  seem  . 

To  speak  for  us  the  words : 

"  Good-will  and  peace  to  everyone, 
Now  not  a  single  cloud  have  we 
To  mar  the  brightness  of  our  sun — 
Come,  let  your  loving  hearts  be  free." 

A  merry  Christmas  then  on  this  fair  day, 
And  merrrier  ones  through  coming  years; 

May  gladsome  cheer  chase  care  away 
And  leave  behind  no  place  for  tears. 

And  with  this  wish  I  pray  that  He 
Who  gave  us  what  we  have  to  give, 

May  fill  our  hearts  with  love — so  we 

Shall  praise  His  goodness  while  we  live. 
December  25 ',  1886. 


SUNNYSIDE. 


IN  dreams,  both  day  and  night,  oft  do  I  go 
Back  to  thy  paths,  sweet  Sunnyside,  and  see 
Thy  dear  old  haunts  so  fraught  with  memory 
Of  all  now  loved  and  sacred  here  below; 
View  thy  fair  form  and  hear  the  soft  winds  blow 
Down  through  the  bow'rs  where,  oh!  so  often,  we 
As  children  played  in  loving  harmony, 
Brother  and  sister,  nor  did  even  know 
The  precious  value  of  the  passing  joy 


68  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

That  filled  the  hours  which  went  from  morn  till  eve, 
And  thinking  less  of  cares  that  might  annoy, 
Or  throbbing  pain  which  tears  may  not  relieve, 
For  weary  thoughts  could  not  our  minds  employ, 
Till  added  years  had  taught  our  hearts  to  grieve. 


FEAR  NOT. 


Do  not  borrow 
From  to-morrow 

Grief  and  pain; 
With  the  present 
Though  unpleasant 

Cope  again! 

Storms  may  thunder, 
And,  far  under, 

Waters  roll; 
Still  abiding, 
God  is  guiding 

Safe  the  soul! 


LOOK  UP. 


ALL  worldly  glory  is  but  vain, 

Though  charm  it  may  the  youthful  heart. 
Look  up!  if  thou  would'st  e'er  attain 

True  honor  and  a  worthy  part 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Seek  higher  things,  the  kingdom  of  our  God, 

And  trust  his  holy  will  alway; 
Follow  in  love  the  humble  path  he  trod, 

Which  leads  unto  the  everlasting  Day. 


TO  A  CHILD. 


DEAR  child,  so  pure, 

I  pray  that  ne'er 

The  shadow  of  thy  father's  sin 

Shall  fall  upon  thy  soul  within! 

He  was  not  true, 

And  holy  love 

Touched  not  his  heart  with  sacred  fire; 

His  was  the  love  of  base  desire, 

Which,  satisfied, 

Kindled  anew, 

And  left  a  broken-hearted  maid 

To  bear  the  burdens  he  had  laid. 

He  did  not  know, 

Nor  aught  cared  he, 

Whether  thine  eyes  would  ever  view 

Earth's  beauty  or  the  skies  of  blue, 

But  wandered  far 

In  distant  lands, 

Thoughtless  of  one  to  whom  he  gave 

The  wound  that  brought  her  to  the  grave. 


70  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

She  did  not  die 

With  friends  around 

To  comfort  in  the  trying  hour, 

But  died  without  a  friend  or  flower, 

One  single  flower 

To  cheer  her  way, 

As  through  the  awful  vale  of  death 

She  went  with  faltering  step  and  breath. 

And  when  she  lay 

So  dead  and  cold, 

No  gentle  hand  did  kindly  care 

To  smooth  her  locks  of  wavy  hair, 

But  youth  and  age, 

Maiden  and  sire, 

Cast  from  their  minds  all  thought  of  her 

Whose  only  sin  had  been  to  err 

In  loving  much 

The  heart  of  one 

Whose  hellish  deed,  I  pray,  may  meet 

Reward  at  God's  own  Judgment-seat! 

Yet — I  am  wrong, 

Dear  child,  I  know, 

To  rake  these  ashes  of  the  past 

And  into  present  fair  winds  cast 

Their  blinding  dust; 
Without  my  prayer 
A  Nemesis  will  surely  come 
And  strike  the  evil-doer  dumb. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  71 

My  hope  is  then, 

Sweet  child,  for  thee; 

God  grant  thee  manhood  pure  and  strong, 

To  bear  the  right  and  fight  the  wrong. 


RECONCILIATION. 


MY  heart  was  tender,  so  I  cried, 
'•' Speak  out,  O  heart!  through  quivering  lip; 
Speak  now  before  the  moments  slip; 
Speak  softly,  gently,  near  her  side, 
And  tell  her  'twas  in  anger  spoke, 
The  soul  doth  ask  forgiveness  now ; 
Yea,  haste  ere  thought  all  utterance  choke, 
Or  on  her  young,  untroubled  brow 
The  marks  of  sorrow  deeply  plough." 

And  thus  within  my  heart  replied: 
"  I  cannot  beg  forgiveness  yet, 
But  could  she  come  and  ask  me  why 
I  said  those  words,  I  would  reply, 
And  press  these  trembling  lips  to  hers. 
Confess  my  sin  with  tearful  eye, 
And  earn  forgiveness  by  and  by. 
I  cannot  ask,  but,  oh !  I  pray 
God  grant  me  it  this  very  day." 

And  as  she  wept,  while  scalding  tears 
Rolled  down  upon  her  feverish  cheek, 
These  cruel  lips  refused  to  speak, 


72  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Which  they  had  never  done  for  years. 

Then  cried  I  out :  "  Do  now  with  hand 

Stretch  out  to  her  thy  willing  aid, 

Encircle  her  as  with  a  band, 

Thatjshe  may  never  be  afraid; 

Haste  soon  and  cheer  the  grieving  maid." 

Then  once  again  my  heart  replied : 
"These  hands  are  burning  now  to  press 
Heart  unto  heart.     Against  my  own 
To  keep  hers  there  until  have  flown 
All  cause  for  weeping  and  for  tears. 
Her  sob  is  answered  by  a  moan; 
Oh!  that  I  kinder  words  had  known; 
If  she  could  lift  one  pleading  hand 
Mine  both  would  answer  her  demand." 

Implored  I  now :  "Turn  both  those  eyes 
With  loving  glance  into  her  own; 
Show  her  that  they  have  kindly  grown 
As  after  clouds  the  summer  skies." 
And  turning  such  a  flood  of  light, 
Of  love  and  soulful  longing  too, 
As  well  would  chase  the  darkest  night 
And  let  the  rays  of  sunshine  through, 
Two  dark  eyes  gazed  into  the  blue. 

And  pride  gave  way  to  contrite  tears, 
And  hand  went  out  in  manly  aid, 
And  lip  expressed  in  loving  word 
What  was  received  and  gladly  heard. 
In  long  embrace  and  pressure  warm 


MISCELLANEOUS.  73 

Smothered  was  every  trace  of  pain, 
And  well  I  know  that  winter  storm 
Can  never  toss  our  sea  again.        » 


BY  THE  CLOCK. 

SIXTY  seconds  by  the  clock, 

Sixty  ticks  and  that  is  all, 

Sixty  only:  as  we  talk 

Down  upon  the  garden  walk 

Shadows  deep  begin  to  fall. 

Sixty  minutes  by  the  clock, 

Made  of  pulse-beats  quick  and  small, 

But  a  dear  soul  takes  its  flight 

Up  from  earth  to  realms  of  light, 

While  hot  tears  bedim  our  sight; 

Death  has  come,  and  that  is  all. 

Sixty  long  hours  by  the  clock, 
Sixty  only,  yet  alone, 
All  alone,  I  sit  and  rock, 
As  the  seconds  laugh  and  mock 
Every  sigh  and  every  moan. 
Sixty  days  marked  by  the  clock, 
How  my  face  has  older  grown, 
Gray  hairs  with  the  brown  ones  lie; 
Wrinkles  deep  and  faded  eye, 
Plainer  grow  as  days  go  by, 
While  the  roses  long  have  flown. 


iu 


74  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"Sixty  weeks  of  tearless  grief, 
Sixty  weeks  so  sad  and  long, 
Asking  Heaven  for  relief, 
Praying  that  my  life  be  brief, 
Yet  resistless  borne  along. 
Sixty  months,  the  very  chief 
Of  the  chiefest,  all  along 
When  the  heart  learns,  oh!  how  deep 
Do  the  chords  of  sorrow  keep, 
Though  the  sounds  of  sorrow  sleep, 
Like  sad  notes  of  untouched  song. 

"  Sixty  years  by  seconds  told, 

Minutes,  hours,  and  days  as  well, 
•  f    Weeks  and  months;  now  I  am  old, 
'Youth  is  silver,  age  is  gold,' 
I  will  say,  since  poets  tell. 
Time  in  eighty  years  has  rolled, 
By  clear  strokes  upon  its  bell, 
All  my  youth  and  strength  away, 
Turned  to  snowy  white  the  gray, 
Breathed  cold  winter  into  May, 
Warned  me  I  must  say  farewell." 

Sixty  seconds  by  the  clock, 
Sixty  seconds,  that  is  all, 
Once  again  the  shadows  stalk 
Through  the  garden  and  the  walk; 
Now  they  tremble  on  a  pall. 
It  has  come  again — the  shock 
That  to  each  must  soon  befall. 
Though  the  clock  ticks  on  the  sill, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  75 

Heart-throbs,  pulse-beats  now  are  still, 
Throb  and  beat  they  never  will- 
Death  has  come,  and  that  is  all. 


THE  EBB  AND  FLOW. 


'Tis  an  ebb  and  a  flow 

Of  the  ocean  wide, 

Of  the  tireless  tide. 

It  is  coming  and  going  the  long  hours  through, 

Rushing  along  in  its  beaten  track, 

Onward  and  upward  and  forward  and  back, 

To  its  paths  in  the  rocks  and  the  sand, 

Here  and  on  every  hand. 

What  it  brings  it  will  take  away, 

What  it  takes  it  will  give  again — 

Even  as  rain  clouds  give  the  rain — 

Seme  day. 

If  we  only  knew, 

And  we  all  may  know, 

This  life  of  ours  is  an  ebb  and  a  flow, 

Of  days  and  of  years, 

Of  joy  and  of  woe. 

And,  like  the  tide  that  breaks  on  the  rocks 

And  throws  in  the  air  its  briny  spray, 

Is  the  tide  of  our  life  which  bears  along 

Toward  the  ragged  rocks  of  ill  and  of  wrong, 

That  cast  through  our  years 

Their  spray  of  tears. 


76  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

By  our  Tide 
Must  we  all  abide; 
What  it  brings  it  will  take  away— 
What  it  takes  it  will  give  again — 
All  but  the  woe  and  the  pain- 
Some  day. 
Laguna  Beach,  August,  1886. 


YOU. 


IT  is  you  and  no  one  else 

Who  have  taken  my  hope  and  my  heart; 
You  know  it  not;  perhaps  if  you  knew 

You  would  tremble  and  start. 

Now  you  are  thoughtless  and  young, 
And  you  think  not  I  do  not  forget; 

What  you  told  me  once  I  have  kept 
And  treasured,  and  hold  it  yet. 

Are  words  of  love  nothing,  that  you 
Should  sound  them  in  every  ear? 

Is  it  as  well  not  to  think  what  you  say 
As  to  speak  and  be  sincere? 

I  would  not  die  if  you  said 

You  loved  another  man  better  than  me; 
I  would  not  break  in  my  grief, 

But  bend,  like  the  willow  tree, 

Then  swing  to  my  place  again 
After  the  storm  had  passed, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  77 

For  sorrow  alone  cannot  kill  a  man, 
Though  it  hold  him  fast. 

But  you  told  me  not  the  truth, 

For  you  uttered  a  pack  of  lies; 
And  all  you  said  to  me  was  as  false 

As  the  false  light  in  your  eyes. 

You  are  the  cause  of  my  wandering 

Out  from  the  paths  of  right; 
Pointing,  you  told  me  where  to  go^ 

And  I  went  down  into  night. 

Then  you  kept  me  in  the  darkness, 

Though  I  walked  along  till  I  fell 
Headlong  almost  to  the  very  gates 

Of  a  deep  abysmal  hell. 

"Do  this  for  my  love,"  you  said, 

And  whatever  you  asked  was  done; 
I  would  love  all  you  love,  and  hate 
Whatever  you  wished  to  shun. 

Did  I  do  right?.    Ask  your  conscience, 

I  am  not  much  in  doubt; 
Blind  I  was,  blinder  than  Hecuba 

After  her  eyes  were  out. 


THE  WISER  PLAN. 


BENEATH  an  oak  a  lazy  croaker  lay 
Long  after  sunrise  and  the  dawn  of  day, 


VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

To  fret,  to  worry;  and  to  whine, 
To  find  some  fault  with  workmanship  divine 
"Why,"  said  he  glibly,  "should  there  be 
Pumpkins  on  vines,  and  acorns  on  a  tree? 
The  vines  are  tender,  while  the  trees  are  tougfT; 
Acorns  are  small,  but  pumpkins  large  enough. 
If  God  in  trees  had  hung  these  pumpkins  large, 
And  given  to  vines  the  lesser  charge, 
I'm  sure  we  all  could  then  agree 
That  it  a^wiser  plan  would  be." 
Just  then  from  its  high  perch  an  acorn  fell 
Into  the  croaker's  face  and  hit  him  well, 
Which  was  reproof,  and  argument  at  once 
Sufficient  to  convince  the  veriest  dunce, 
Though,  through  the  mercy  of  God's  wiser  plan, 
We  were  not  spared  the  wit  of  such  a  man. 


A  SONNET. 


[To  a  little  blue-eyed  lassie  who  sits  near  me  in  church.] 

PASSING  strange  these  blue  eyes  are, 
Shining  like  some  merry  star 

In  the  sky! 

Only  more  these  two  will  say, 
And  in  quite  a  different  way, 
Than  those  twinkling  from  the  gray 

By  and  by! 

Eyes  that  would,  yet  may  not,  frown 
If  they  try,  can  but  look  down 


MISCELLANEOUS.  79 

With  a  smile; 

In  whose  depths,  so  sweet  and  pure, 
Sleep  expressions  which  I'm  sure 
Will  some  day  some  heart  allure 

And  beguile ! 

Hide  these  eyes  with  fan  or  screen, 

Snowy  white  or  leafy  green,  * 

For  a  while, 

And  you  find  that  in  a  glance, 
In  a  look  that  will  entrance, 
Stealing  through  by  merest  chance, 

Comes  the  smile ! 


THE  RAIN. 


FAR  from  the  hill-tops  there  comes  a  sweet  strain, 
Louder  it  echoes  now  over  the  plain, 
And  through  the  valleys  the  sound  thrills  again : 
:The  rain,  the  rain." 

Down  on  the  hard,  on  the  dry,  scorching  ground, 
Patters  the  rain  with  a  musical  sound, 
As  from  each  flower  a  fair,  trembling  cup, 
Begs  of  the  rain  to  be  quickly  filled  up. 

Oh  !  was  there  ever  such  mirth  on  the  prairie, 
Did  one  e'er  see  so  many  so  merry? 

Trillions  of  blossoms  are  gladdening  the  air, 
Sending  their  fragrance  out  everywhere, 


8o  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Tingeing  the  valley  with  red  and  with  blue, 
Such  tints  and  colors  the  world  never  knew! 
See!  on  the  mountain  the  bluebells  are  ringing, 
Larkspurs  and  poppies  and  daisies  are  singing, 
And  the  whole  plain  is  stirred  in  commotion 
Like  that  which  stirs  the  depth  of  the  ocean. 

List !  all  the  flowers  ecstatic  are  crying, 
Shouting  and  dancing,  their  gay  colors  flying, 
Well  may  old  Chronos  now  wonder  what  mirth 
Could  thus  have  taken  possession  of  earth. 
"Be  merry,  dear  comrades,"  the  trillions  flowers  sing; 
Long  live  our  kind  master,  and  long  be  he  king; 
So  fill  up  your  cups,  be  they  blue,  red,  or  yellow, 
And  drink  to  the  health  of  a  jolly  good  fellow." 

Not  a  bud  but  was  drunk  with  the  rain, 
Not  a  cup  but  would  fill  up  again, 
Not  a  frond  but  would  join  the  refrain. 

"I  thank  thee,  O  Lord!  I  have  not  come  in  vain," 
Sang  the  rain. 


LINES. 


[On  seeing   the   night-blooming   cereus   open  in  church   on  Easter 
night.] 

AND  without  sun  or  light,  just  at  the  hour 
When  darkness  reigns  supreme  in  ev'ry  place, 
Slowly  unfold,  with  ever  changeless  grace, 
The  waxen  petals  of  a  snowy  flow'r, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  81 

Which,  softly  stealing  from  their  mystic  bow'r, 
Ope,  all  unbidden  by  that  cheerful  face 
Whose  smile  and  glance  become  the  royal  mace 
That  gives  to  pregnant  buds  the  magic  pow'r. 
Like  to  this  flower  came  One  from  high  above 
When  all  was  dark,  down  to  our  earth  below, 
Unfolding  one  by  one  His  acts  divine, 
And  showing  us  the  beauty  of  that  love 
Which  our  cold  hearts  ask'd  not,  yet  now  may  know 
And  prove  the  wisdom  of  God's  great  design. 


CLOUDS. 


TOSSED  are  the  clouds  in  the  sky, 
Hurried  and  pushed  by  the  wind; 

So  are  the  strange  doubts  that  fly 
Into  my  wondering  mind. 

Shadows  do  fall  from  the  clouds 

Down  to  the  valley  below; 
As  from  my  doubts,  ghostly  shrouds 

Of  sadness  forever  flow. 

They  fall  o'er  a  longing  life, 
Casting  a  shadow  and  gloom, 

Telling  of  sorrow  and  strife, 
And  giving  no  sunlight  room. 

Will  these,  like  clouds  in  the  sky, 

Which  bring  us  sweet  showers  of  rain, 

Refresh  us,  and  by  and  by 

Send  sunshine  and  warmth  again? 
6 


82  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

CARELESS  WORDS. 


IN  careless  mood  I  shot  a  bird 

And  broke  its  tender  little  wing; 
It  fell  from  the  great  tree;    I  heard 

A  cry  escape  the  fluttering  thing; 
And  such  a  plaintive  cry  it  gave, 

So  full  of  meaning  and  of  pain, 
I  would  have  given  all  to  save 

That  bird  from  harm  again. 
So  oft  our  words,  without  a  thought 

Of  the  deep  woe  they  may  convey, 
Are  careless  spoken,  to  be  caught 

And  hidden  in  some  heart  away. 
No  cry  may  fall  upon  our  ear, 

Of  the  great  sorrow  that  they  bring; 
We  do  not  often  see  the  tear 

When  we  ourselves  feel  not  the  sting. 
But  such  words  missiles  are,  and  keen 

To  sink  into  the  heart  of  some  dear  child, 
And  there,  with  cruel  power  unseen, 

Work  out  their  mission,  fierce  and  wild: 
For  what  is  the  heart  but  a  tender  thing, 
As  easily  crushed  as  a  birdling's  wing! 
o 

LINES   WRITTEN  ON  THE    ILIA  OF 
AN  OLD  SKELETON. 


COME  !  grinning  maiden,  let  us  be 
More  cheery  on  this  stormy  e'en, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  83 

Stand  by  the  light,  where  I  can  see 

Your  socket  eyes  and  visage  lean; 
Loll  not  with  such  a  drooping  air, 
For  surely  you  are  free  from  care 
And  have  no  scruples,  at  this  day, 
But  which  should  all  be  cast  away ! 
Play  not  the  prude  to-night  with  one 
Who  bleached  your  long  bones  in  the  sun. 

When  soft  flesh  covered  all  these  bones, 

I  heard,  and  know  it  very  well, 
Your  name  was  Mary  Ellen  Jones, 

And  you  were  quite  a  lively  belle; 
You  drank  a  little,  to  be  sure — 
Some  whisky  punches  taken  pure — 
And  sometimes  in  a  fight  you  found 
Your  nasal  beaten  hard  and  sound, 
And  once  or  twice  you  had  to  bear 
The  pulling  of  your  flaxen  hair. 

Chicago  was  your  home  :  ah,  well, 

That  may  explain  your  wayward  life, 
And  how,  at  length,  you  sadly  fell 

Into  a  constant  round  of  strife. 
You  broke  your  radius  one  night 
In  a  disreputable  fight, 
Which  caused  me  once  to  really  make — 
It  looked  so  odd — a  sad  mistake: 
I  thought  'twas  natural,  and  lo ! 
In  my  report  described  it  so. 

I  do  not  know,  but  I  have  heard, 

You  worked  your  jaw-bone  swift  and  sure 


84  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

In  billingsgate  and  evil  word  ; 

For  you  were  not  an  epicure. 
But  though  the  motion's  gone,  I  see, 
This  bone  once  moved  most  rapidly, 
When  angry  would  you  snap  those  teeth 
Like  sword  within  its  scabbard  sheath, 
Bend  up  your  phalanges,  and  swing 
Your  humerus  like  some  flapping  wing. 

Oft  did  your  metatarsals  err 

And  take  you  where  you  should  not  go 
And,  from  appearance,  I  infer     . 

You  often  stubbed  your  leading  toe. 
One  clavicle  is  cleft  in  twain 
And  never  can  be  used  again, 
While  all  the  larger  bumps  you  own 
Would  phrenologically  atone 
For  many  sins  that  you  have  done, 
My  cold  and  dismal  skeleton! 

You  had  a  lover  once  who  paid 

You  kind  attentions  for  a  year, 
But,  like  a  cruel,  heartless  maid, 

You  dropped  him  off  without  a  tear; 
Yea,  without  warning  word,  or  fuss, 
Sank  all  his  hope  in  Erebus. 
Ah!  do  I  see  you  laugh,  and  hear 
Those  dry  bones  rattle  in  my  ear, 
Ribs,  shafts,  phalanges,  jaws,  and  all, 
Like  wind-blown  branches  in  the  fall? 

Then  I  have  stirred  at  last  your  soul, 
Old  maid,  so  gaunt  and  tall  and  thin; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  8$ 

Come,  help  me  quaff  my  student  bowl 

And  drink  its  inspiration  in  ! 
For  I  am  weary  all  alone 
Conning  these  leaves  on  flesh  and  bone ; 
A  word  or  two  of  present  aid 
Would  help  me  on,  O  bony  maid! 
So  clasp  my  hand,  and  tell  me  o'er 
Tales  from  the  dark  Cerberian  shore! 


TO  GRIEF. 


COME,  grief,  why  need'st  thou  have  a  fear? 
Know  thou  art  not  a  stranger  here. 
My  heart  and  thee  in  sad  embrace 
Too  oft  have  shown  each  other  grace, 
And  parents  been  to  sob  and  tear. 

For  we  are  wedded:  grief  and  I 

Shall  not  be  severed  till  we  die, 

Though  sighs  and  sobs  and  sometimes  tears 

May  be  our  offspring,  as  the  years 

Of  weary  waiting  shall  go  by. 


FRAGMENT. 


[Written  on  the  back  of  an  envelope  addressed  to  the  author,  in  Mr. 
Longfellow's  handwriting.] 

THINE  own  dear  hand  did  write 
These  letters  each,  and  all, 


86  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Forming  my  name  upon  the  white 
With  rise  and  fall. 

And,  as  I  look,  I  seem  to  see 
Thee  sit  beside  thy  writing  board; 
Take  out,  where  many  more  were  stored, 
A  parchment,  and  to  me 

Give  up  a  moment  that  might  be 
Spent  writing,  for  eternity 
Some  word  of  sweetest  song. 

But  no!  to  me  belong 

The  pen  and  hand  and  moment  too, 
As  light  thy  fair  hand  glides  along, 

Then  stays  to  cross  the  letters  through; 
Seal  envelope  and  lay  it  down 
Upon  thy  study  desk  of  brown. 
I  wonder  if  thou  gavest  a  thought 

To  me  thou  ne'er  hadst  seen, 
Whose  name  to  thee  by  chance  was  brought 

By  written  go-between? 
And  if  thou  saidst  upon  thy  lip 

My  name,  as  it  would  sound  in  air, 
Lest  thou  shouldst  let  a  letter  slip 

Or  seem  to  want  a  care  ? 

I  do  not  know;  but  this  I  know,— 
I  love  thee,  poet,  and  thy  song; 
Much  comfort  has  each  brought  to  me, 
In  days  of  sad  uncertainty, 
Through  all  these  years  along. 
I  love  thy  music  more  and  more, 
As  to  my  soul  the  chords  sound  o'er; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  87 

Nor  can  I  tell  thee  what  I  feel 
When  through  my  soul  they  softly  steal, 
But,  oh !  I  would  that  thou  couldst  know 
What  grateful  feelings  outward  flow. 


MONEY. 


MONEY  is  less  than  the  least  of  all  things 

Left  to  Adam  before  or  after  his  fall; 

But  a  crumb  from  the  sumptuous  feast 

Of  blessings  God-given  to  all; 

Of  possessions  the  smallest  of  small. 

Fit  to  be  used  in  a  proper  way, 

Honestly,  carefully,  well : 

Made  a  good  servant,  but  never  a  lord 

Unto  the  heart  or  the  lip  or  the  hand. 

Else  may  it  sear  with  its  burning  brand. 

What  can  it  buy? — for  in  keeping  'tis  worthless, 
Worse  to  be  kept  than  the  dust  of  the  street— 
Never  a  home  nor  a  friend  nor  a  lover; 
Honor  nor  talent  nor  wisdom  nor  life. 
What  can  it  buy  for  the  heart  that  is  precious — 
Comfort  in  sorrow  or  rest  for  the  weary  ? 
Nothing  but  houses  and  vanishing  pleasures ; 
Nothing  but  things  we  must  leave  as  we  go; 
Nothing  but  trifles  too  small  for  perfection, 
Nothing  eternal — ah!  nothing,  we  know. 

And  from  the  man  who  an  idol  shall  make  it 
Death  shall  demand  all  the  flow'rs  of  his  heart; 


88  VERSES  FROM  tHE  VALLEY. 

Wither  and  scorch  them  with  gold-shine  forever; 
Burn  up  their  petals  with  niter  of  silver; 
Smother  their  fragrance  in  dim,  dusty  paper, 
Till  the  whole  man  will  be  fashioned 
From  his  head  to  his  feet ; 

Formed  by  the  breath  and  the  throb  and  the  beat 
Of  desire  most  insatiate 
To  have  gold  and  keep  it  and  hide  it, — 
Till  his  tenderness  withers, 
His  home  love  dec3ys, 
And  callous  he  grows;  cold 
^A.s  the  money  he  worships  and  loves; 
Till  at  length,  without  heart-friends. 
He  lies  by  the  gold  ore  and  silver 
Down  under  the  sod  of  the  hill. 


FRUSTRATED. 


(To  E.) 

"  The  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  an'  men 
Gang  aft  a-gley." 

Two  rings  of  gold 

Were  given  to  me  by  a  maiden  fair, 

Placed  for  a  moment  in  my  hand  and  care 

Until  she  should  return;  and  so  I  mused, 

Turning  the  circlets  o'er  and  o'er, 

On  sayings  I  had  read  before. 

How  everything 

Comes  down  to  us  in  circles  round  and  round- 


MISCELLANEOUS.  80 

Light  through  the  air  or  waves  of  pleasant  sound; 
How  earth  is  but  a  spheroid  which  revolves 
Itself,  revolving  round  a  ring, 
As  morning  comes  and  evening  ! 

How  days  and  years 
In  winding  circles  ever  come  and  go, 
Inclosing  for  us  either  weal  or  woe  ! 
How  hills  surround  and  blue  skies  arch, 
While  the  horizon  circleth  all 
Visible  things  upon  this  ball. 

And  so  I  wished, 

Vainly  I  know,  that  I  might  learn  from  these 

Two  rings  what  would  a  doubting  heart  appease; 

Learn  what  the  pulses  beat  within  the  bands 

Which  circled  them,  and  where  each  day 

A  dozen  secrets  came  their  way. 

For  I  had  read 

How  ancient  gods,  for  pledge  of  loving  care, 

Had  given  rings  made  from  their  golden  hair 

To  one  they  loved,  which  should  a  token  be 

Of  blessings  that  would  e'er  descend, 

In  falling  circles  without  end. 

And  more  I  read, 

How  rings  once  worn  upon  the  finger,  could 

Secrets  reveal  to  others,  if  they  would 

He  pressed  against  the  warm  and  beating  pulse; 

For,  rushing  currents  from  the  heart 

Bear  messages  to  every  part. 


90  VERSES  FROM  THK  VALLEY. 

Then  as  I  tried 

But  failed  to  learn  what  most  I  wished  to  know, 
I  let  the  ancient  tales  and  fancies  go. 
Resolving  then  that  I  would  give  the  maid 
Only  one  ring,  and  to  her  say, 
"One  now,  and  one  another  day." 

Yet  when  she  came 

Tripping  so  lightly,  with  extended  hand 
To  make  her  just  and  reasonable  demand, 
Her  blue  e.yes  beaming,  I  forgot  to  siy 
A  single  word,  but  gave  each  ring 
Without  the  power  of  questioning. 


SUNNYSIDE. 


"  I  remember,  I  remember 
The  house  where  I  was  born." 

HOME  of  my  boyhood  days!  how  doth  this  heart 
Quicken  at  thought  of  thee,  and  haste  its  work 
Like  one  who  suddenly  remembers  aught 
Important,  but  forgotten  in  the  midst 
Of  work  more  near.     Slow  pulses  feel  the  thrill 
And  send  a  glow  upon  my  cheek;   my  eyes 
Grow  liquid,  and  these  hands  are  trembling  now, 
So  much  I  love  thy  name,  my  Sunnyside! 

And  I  must  pause  here,  though  my  soul  be  full 
Of  other,  later  thoughts  which  press  their  weight 
And  crowd  against  the  dreams  of  long  'ago; 
Thoughts,  recollections,  dear  remembrances 


MISCELLANEOUS.  91 

Of  what  shall  never  be  again;  of  what 
Lies  like  a  beauteous  valley  in  the  past, 
Hidden  sometimes  by  shadowy  mists,  but  now 
Clear  in  the  stream  of  memory's  lucid  light. 

Here  is  the  garden  with  its  narrow  path, 
A  path  that  wanders  every  whitherward — 
Like  wilful  child  that  will  not  guided  be- 
Now  under  apple  trees,  and  now  between 
Green  walls  of  vines  and  eglantine,  which  reach 
Over  the  way,  and  cast  strange  tracery 
Of  shade  upon  the  daylight  there.     Beyond 
Stretches  the  clover  field  where  we  could  run, 
A  dozen  children,  playing  hide  and  seek, 
And  not  be  found,  while  every  rosy  head 
Of  clover  saw  the  place  and  would  not  tell, 
But  helped  to  shield  us  with  its  triple  leaf. 

Not  far  away,  where  cherry  bushes  grew 

And  bore  the  red  choke-cherries  high  aloft, 

We  had  our  play-house,  on  a  little  knoll 

With  grassy  sides.     Here  came  we  when  white  bloom 

Fell  o'er  the  plum  trees  like  thin  flakes  of  snow, 

And  tender  spears  of  green  pierced  through  the  earth 

On  hill-sides  everywhere,  and  May  flowers  thrust 

Their  fresh,  sweet  faces  through  the  laafy  mould; 

When  pussy  buds  of  willow  broke  their  shells, 

And  warmed  their  downy  fur  backs  in  the  sun. 

Here  were  we  too  when  dandelions  shot 

Their  yellow  suns  abroad  o'er  all  the  field, 

And  vi'lets,  white  and  pink  and  yellow,  hid 

Their  pretty  modest  faces  by  the  brook; 


92  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

And  fire-weed  flamed,  and  dear  forget-me-nots 
Made  us  kneel  down  and  pay  them  homage  there. 

Here  lived  we  when  the  grass  had  grown 

As  tall  as  we,  and  all  the  trees  hung  low 

With  apples,  plums,  and  cherries  black  and  red; 

When  dark-eyed  autumn  flowers  grew  on  the  slopes, 

And  corn-fields  tossed  thetr-silken  fringes  loose 

For  us  to  braid,  and  pumpkins  gave  us  seats. 

We  played  we  people  were  of  consequence, 

Women  and  men  who  had  secured  the  things 

Children  so  covet — knowledge  of  the  world, 

Stature  and  years,  and,  looking  forward,  found 

Our  joy  in  what  was  yet  to  come,  as  we 

In  later  years,  for  this  same  joy,  backwards 

Must  look.     Our  home  was  humble,  but  it  seemed 

A  palace,  for  we  furnished  it  with  great 

And  costly  draperies  made  from  Fancy's  loom. 

Nothing  we  lacked  but  what  we  could  supply 

By  wishing  it,  while  little  Nell,  the  wife, 

Faithfully  performed  her  household  duties,  like 

Some  matron  who  had  lived  nigh  half  her  days 

Toiling  at  home.     Children  my  sisters  were 

To  us — two  girls,  and  oft  a  neighbor's  child 

Would  be  their  brother,  and  thus  add  a  third 

To  our  already  happy  family. 

Sometimes  we  wandered  from  our  sheltered  nook, 

On  to  the  mountain-side  and  through  the  fields 

Of  long,  long  grass,  where  blue  flowers  tossed  their  heads 

Among  the  hay-seed  tufts,  and  there,  below, 

Close  to  the  ground,  we  picked  the  strawberry, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  93 

And  picked  and  ate,  painting  each  others'  cheeks 
And  lips  till  they  were  crimson  red  ;  then  strdng 
A  dozen  straws  with  berries  large  and  soft, 
And  homeward  went,  a  harvest  in  our  hands. 

Oft,  too,  when  birching  season  came,  we  took 
Our  lunch  and  sought  old  Polette's  road,  which  went 
Winding  along  down  to  the  river  brink, 
Through  woods  of  birch-  sweet  woods  of  scented  birch- 
Wherein  we  peeled  the  white  bark  from  the  trees, 
Scraping  the  rich,  sweet,  pulpy  juice  until 
We  filled  our  birchen  dishes  full,  then  turned 
Up  towards  our  Prospect  hill,  and  rested  there 
Awhile,  sitting  on  Rest  stone,  near  which  lay 
The  little  grave-yard  sleeping  silently. 
Yonder  the  wide  fields  spread,  with  cottages 
Among  the  garden  plots  ;  then  miles  of  land, 
Stretching  far  up  against  the  horizon, 
Their  woods  of  hemlock  dark  and  tamarack, 
While,  by  the  sloping  side,  the  river  flowed, 
Bending  its  course  to  suit  the  rugged  hill, 
Till  in  the  distance,  like  a  silver  thread, 
In  many  folds  it  wound  itself  away. 

Often  we  went  down  to  the  river's  edge 

When  the  red  sun  was  reaching  towards  the  west, 

My  love  and  I,  and  watched  the  deep,  dark  stream 

Flow  on  between  its  rocky  sides,  and  sa  w 

Upon  its  bosom  all  the  sky,  the  clouds, 

The  tinted  leaves  of  maple,  beech,  and  birch, 

Reflected  in  a  beauteous  miniature. 

And  on  the  moss-grown  sides  we  sat  to  make 


94  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Baskets  of  burdock  burrs,  with  pails  and  chairs, 

Or  what  we  wished,  according  to  our  mood. 

Now  we  would  tell  the  hour  by  blowing  off 

The  dandelion-down,  when  every  seed 

That  stayed  upon  the  stem  would  count  one  hour. 

Or  with  the  lichen  we  would  make  a  chain, 

A  necklace,  or  a  ring,  which  Nell  would  keep 

And  wear  because  I  made  it  and  so  willed. 
Mats  wove  we  of  the  pliant  stems  that  %rew 
About  the  river's  edge,  and  linden  leaves 
Were  turned  to  aprons.     There  we  played  till  Eve 
Touched  the  dark  hemlocks  with  her  misty  hand, 
And  warned  us  plainly  of  approaching  night. 

And  oft  we  picked  the  May  flowers  in  the  spring, 
And  gathered  violets  by  the  laughing  brook, 
And  filled  our  hands  in  balmy  summer-time 
With  fire-weed  stems,  and  showy  buttercups, 
And  succory,  and  lilies  pale  and  wan. 

O  Sunnyside,  how  far  thy  prospect  lies 
From  me  to-day !  'tis  as  the  promised  land 
To  Moses,  beautiful  but  far  away; 
Seen  only  and  not  realized.     But  he 
Who  stood  on  Nebo's  top  could  view  a  land 
That  was  to  be,  while  I  am  looking  back 
To  what  has  been — a  past  that  will  return 
Never,  except  in  memory. 

ST.  JOHN'S  CHURCH. 

SILENT  the  little  church,  where  once 
So  many  at  the  beat  of  pulses  came, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  95 

With  burning  soul  and  restless  heart. 

Father  and  maiden,  son  and  feeble  dame, 

To  cry  to  God  and  honest  men, 

How  England's  heavy  hand  now  bore  them  down; 
How  tyranny  was  forcing  them 

To  break  allegiance  to  the  kingly  crown. 

See  how  they  come  from  far  away ! 

Old  men  with  tight-pressed  lip  and  faces  white, 
Signs  of  a  mental  combat  which 

Is  but  precursor  of  a  fiercer  fight. 

Old  women  leaning  for  support; 

Mothers  with  infant  crooning  at  the  breast; 
Maidens  and  lovers  hand  in  hand, 

Breathless  and  eager,  pausing  not  for  rest. 

The  church  grows  crowded ;  every  pew 

Gives  room  until  no  room  for  more; 
The  aisles  are  pressed,  and  on  the  steps 

Hundreds  are  seeking  entrance  at  the  door. 

Who  mounts  the  stair?  Ah!  one  who  brings 
A  hush  of  silence  like  the  still  of  death  ; 

See,  from  all  eyes  how  eagerly 

They  watch  the  comer  now  with  bated  breath ! 

He  speaks,  and  like  electric  flash 

His  words  conducted  are  to  hearts  of  men! 

Shock  after  shock  they  feel,  and  yet 

He  strikes  them  with  his  tongue  of  flame  again, 

Then  thunders  out  his  voice,  till  old 

Men  clinch  their  wrinkled  hands  and  forward  bend; 


96  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Till  young  men  stand  in  zeal,  and  women  weep, 
And  with  the  maidens  sobbing  voices  blend. 

"God  made  us  all,"  the  speaker  says, 

"And  in  his  image  made  us  every  one, — 
Not  one  above  another,  but 

All  equal  sharers  in  his  soil  and  sun. 

11  Must  we  submit  to  tyranny 

And  unjust  laws,"  he  cries  with  patriot  breath ; 
"  Men  of  my  country,  cry  with  me, 

'  O  give  me  liberty,  or  give  me  death  ! ' " 

Over  one  hundred  years  have  passed  away 
Since  here  these  voices  filled  the  throbbing  air 

With  cries  for  freedom,  yet  they  ring 
Not  only  in  my  heart,  but  everywhere. 

And  as  the  sun  sinks  low,  I  hear 

Within  the  church  and  from  each  humble  tomb, 
Voices  of  those  who  fought  and  died 

To  bring  the  light  of  freedom  through  our  gloom. 
Richmond,  Va.,  May,  1881. 


TO  MY  CONFESSOR. 


You  know  my  sins,  and  follies  too  ; 

You  have  them  at  your  fingers'  ends; 
The  only  thing  I  have  to  do 
Is  pardon  full  and  free  to  sue, 

And  then  to  make  amends 


MISCELLANEOUS.  97 

Please  to  absolve  me  now,  my  dear, 

And  I  will  from  my  ways  desist; 
How  can  I  err  when  you  are  near, 
Or,  sweet  girl,  give  you  cause  for  fear, 

Or  your  kind  will  resist? 

The  down-glance  from  your  eyes  I  ft  el 
Reach  deep  within  me,  like  some  gleam 

That  through  the  leaves  will  downward  steal. 

And  brighten  as  it  doth  reveal 
The  pebbles  in  the  stream. 

Those  red  lips  are  two  ruby  gates, 

From  which  kind  words  like  angels  come ; 
Where  Love  with  Patience  now  debates, 
While  Love  demurs  and  Patience  waits, 
And  wrath  is  stricken  dumb. 

They  cannot  chide,  those  lips,  ah,  no ! 

Though  worthy  of  all  blame  I  be ; 
They  only  can  forgive,  and  so 
Full  absolution  soon,  I  know, 

They  will  vouchsafe  to  me! 

Come,  now,  my  love,  give  me  your  hand, 
So  small,  and  warm,  and  dimpled  o'er; 

I  swear  by  every  oath's  demand, 

In  this  or  any  other  land, 
That  I  will  sin  no  more. 
o 

TO  NELLIE. 


OVER  the  field  where  you  have  scattered  seed, 
Has  fallen  the  rain, 
7 


VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

And  the  sun  hath  shone  in  a  time  of  need, 
Nor  shone  in  vain. 

For  tall  blades  have  sprung  and  their  blossoms  burst 

Over  it,  one  by  one, 
Watered  by  rain-clouds  and  sacredly  nursed 

By  a  gentle  sun. 

But  no  one  in  fruit-time  came,  so  the  day 

Of  the  harvest  went  past; 
And  the  untouched  fruit  has  fallen  away 

To  the  earth  at  last. 

Now  nothing  is  left  but  the  hardened  seed 

In  the  dead  fruit's  heart; 
Oh,  tell  me,  my  Nell,  shall  a  life  indeed 

From  such  promise  start? 


MIDNIGHT. 


'Tis  midnight  and  nu  sleep, 
No  sleep,  comes  to  my  eyes; 

Long  have  I  lain  awake 
Vv7atching  the  skies, 

Watching  vague  waves  of  cloud, 
Moving  like  ghosts  of  night 

Over  the  moon's  pale  face, 
Veiling  her  light. 

How  do  they  drift  and  drift 
Onward  so  far  away, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  99 

Going  no  whitherward, 
Where  can  they  stray? 

Large  grows  my  vision  now, 

Nothing  but  sky  I  see- 
Nothing  but  clouds  that  pass 

On  silently. 


THE   LEADERS. 


"  Nostram  nunc  accipe  mentem" 
SAVE  us,  O  Lord  !  from  pigmy  men 
Who  cry  and  shout  and  shriek  till  hoarse, 
With  idle  word  and  accent  coarse, 
Their  little  arguments  again  ! 

Small  politicians  who  can  talk 
And  spill  their  vain  words  in  the  air, 
Which  fall  like  soot-flakes  everywhere, 

And  blacken  all  the  way  we  walk. 

Are  men  so  low  they  must  be  shown 
Their  duty  by  such  shallow  fools; 
Whose  tongues  are  used  like  common  tools, 

Much  more  another's  than  their  own  ? 

Yet  such  but  babbling  babblers  be, 
Their  noisy  streams  must  soon  run  dry ; 
They  sourceless  are,  nor  by  and  by 
Will  their  wild  waters  reach  the  sea. 

O  you  who  see  and  think  and  feel, 
Who  hold  a  part  of  God's  great  mind, 


ioo  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Trust  not  these  faithless  leaders  blind, 
Nor  your  own  reason's  laws  repeal. 
Ask  Him  who  gave  you  minds,  to  give 
You  courage  now  to  show  their  worth, 
And  make  you,  whom  He  blessed  with  birth, 
Feel  your  existence  as  you  live. 


IN   THE   MAPLE  WOOD. 


WITHIN  this  shade  of  maple  wood, 

Where,  at  high  noon,  day  scarce  can  penetrate, 
Upon  some  knoll,  in  thankful  mood, 

How  sweet  to  think  and  wait! 
To  listen  to  the  happy  birds, 

Which  flit  with  lightsome  wing  from  tree  to  tree, 
Singing  a  song  too  sweet  for  words, 

A  heavenly  minstrelsy ! 
To  watch  the  gentle  flowers  bend 

In  low  obeisance  to  the  passing  breeze  ; 
To  see  light's  quivering  arrows  blend 

Their  points  beneath  the  trees ! 
And  dance  upon  the  brooklet's  breast, 

Or  lighten  up  the  lily's  ashen  face; 
Oh,  bliss  it  is  indeed,  and  rest 

To  be  in  such  a  place ! 
Yonder  a  winding  path  leads  on, 

O'ergrown  and  strewn  with  fallen  leaf  and  seed, 
Where,  toiling  from  the  early  dawn, 

The  squirrel  finds  his  meed, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  101 

And  chatters  gaily  to  himself 

At  each  discovery  for  his  winter  store, 
Then  scampers  off  like  some  wee  elf, 

But  yet  returns  for  more  ! 

Near  by,  a  noisy  bumble-bee 

Makes  all  the  air  with  his  own  music  ring ; 
And  swiftly  darting,  I  can  see 

The  dragon's  double  wing ! 
There,  like  a  falling  leaf,  so  white 

Floating,  a  butterfly  sinks  toward  the  stream, 
Wherein,  reflected  by  the  light, 

It  motionless  doth  seem. 
I  could  live  always  with  such  things 

To  charm  my  senses  into  dream-like  rest. 
For  here  sweet  fancy  taketh  wings 

To  grant  my  soul's  request. 
Now  slant  the  rays  of  sinking  sun, 

With  no  one  near  but  quiet  earth  and  me; 
Soon  will  the  fading  day  be  done, 

And  night  fall  silently. 
O  Earth!  how  rich  thy  treasures  be 

In  gifts  to  every  creature  great  and  small ! 
How  doth  my  heart  go  out  to  thee, 

Thou  mother  of  us  all! 

Home,  August,  1883. 

o 

TO    CAPTAIN    L. 


Est  in  secessu  longo  locus:  insula  pprtum 
Efficit  objectu  laterum,  quibus  omnis  ab  alto 
Franeitur,  inque  sinus  scindit  sese  unda  reductos. 

— Virg.  A.  I.  159. 


102  VERSKS  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

I. 

ALL  through  the  warp  of  life  does  sorrow  weave 
Its  strange,  dark  threads,  but  still 
We  ply  the  shuttle  of  our  will, 

And  weave  across  the  fine  white  silk,  and  weave 
Careful  or  careless,  as  we  may, 
The  fabrics  for  another  day. 
II. 

Of  good  our  ills  are  made,  and  surely  will 
Prove  good  to  us,  if  only  we 
Dissolve  them  with  our  Alchemy; 

For  nothing  harmful  is  to  him  who  knows 
How  to  resolve  the  woe  and  pain 
Back  to  their  elements  again. 

The 'lack  within  us  lies,  and  all  is  good 
That  comes  to  good  men  everywhere 
Through  water,  fire,  or  earth,  or  air. 
Ill 

There  is  a  place  deep  in  the  mind's  recess, 
A  beauteous  island  of  the  soul, 
Where  safety  is  when  waters  roll 

In  tidal  waves  of  trial  and  of  wrong; 
Or  in  the  rising  flow  of  pain 
Which  ebbs  away  and  flows  again. 

Safely  the  island  rests,  and  every  wave 
Raging  against  it  breaks  and  swerves 
Back  on  itself  in  falling  curves. 

And  from  the  sea  of  trouble  here  below 

Naught  can  affect  that  island's  peace,  for  He 
Holds  its  foundations  in  eternity. 


EARLY     PIECES 


TO  MOTHER 

(With  birthday  greetings,  April  26,  1881.) 
THE  Past  with  all  her  treasures,  yet  receives 
Into  her  reaching  lap  another  year; 
While  poorer  Present  loudly  grieves, 
And  gathers  her  remaining  sheaves, 
As  the  wind  gathers  up  the  leaves. 

Dim  Future  stern  seems  but  a  waste, 
A  desert  stored  with  coming  time. 
Of  which  ne'er  comes  a  sure  foretaste 
But  which  the  Present  takes  with  haste, 
And  holds  about  her  with  a  pride  sublime. 

And  then  she  writes  before  our  face 
Promises  from  this  grim  Future  yet  to  be 
Of  some  more  years,  some  extra  grace, 
That  may  permit  a  longer  race, 
That  soon  alone  the  past  will  see. 

Ah  !   Future,  cold  and  haughty,  now 
I  would  not  ask  one  single  day; 
For  it  is  written  on  thy  brow, 
Of  thy  hard  dealings  oft,  and  how 
Requests  were  granted  in  a  cruel  way. 

(103) 


104  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Thou  may'st  have  years  of  happy  life 

To  give  us  all  a  part; 

And  then,  perhaps,  'tis  years  of  strife, 

Where  pain  and  sorrow  ere  are  rife, 

And  aching  wounds  to  bruise  the  heart; 

So  never  do  I  ask  thee  aught, 

And  joy  or  sorrow  coming,  comes  unsought. 

Dear  Past !  for  thou  art  always  sad; 
So  full  of  many  thoughts  that  seem 
To  fill  thy  soul  and  never  make  thee  glad; 
How  oft  thy  face  looks  tho'  there  had 
Come  to  thy  mind  some  longing  dream  ! 

Happy  to-day,  child  of  the  present  hour, 
I  greet  thee  now,  and  humbly  ask 
Thee  for  one  lasting,  little  flower 
From  out  the  many  in  thy  bower, 
To  aid  me  in  my  loving  task. 


HOLD  THOU  MY  HAND, 


SAVIOUR,  the  way  is  long  and  dark; 
And  when  I  see  the  waters  drear 
Angry  and  raging,  almost  I  fear 
With  faith  so  small  my  little  bark 
Will  sink. 

Guide  thou  me  it  and  keep  it  safe 
From  every  tossing  wave  of  ill 
And  danger;  help  me  to  do  thy  will 


EARLY  PIECES.  105 

And  serve  thee  more,— not  like  the  waif 
Wander  away, 

But  in  thy  love  serve  thee  alone, 
And  praise  the  Maker  of  my  life, 
In  joy  or  sorrow,  pain  or  strife, 
Praise  yet  to  thee,  my  God,  alone 
For  all. 

Oh !  help  me  trust  and  never  doubt 
Of  anything  that  thou  hast  said- 
Just  read  thy  word  as  some  have  read 
And  trust, — not  think  a  thought  about 
The  rest. 

Faith  gave  the  Elders  good  report; 
So  through  this  faith  we  die  one  death 
To  live  again,  as  Scripture  saith, 
To  join  an  everlasting  court 
Of  light. 

Do  I  not  know  that  He  is  just, 
And  on  that  dreadful  day  will  know 
His  jewels;  and  sever  from  below, 
From  sin   all  who  did  calmly  trust 

His  word? 

Then  I  may  know,  for  saith  the  Lord  divine, 
"I,  I  will  spare  my  jewels  in  that  day, 
Those  who  have  followed  in  my  way; 
Those  precious  jewels  shall  be  mine 

In  Heaven." 

Father,  my  only  dearest  Friend, 
Press  thou  my  hand  and  keep  it  firm, 


io6  VKRSKS  FROM  TIIK  VALLEY. 

For  I  am  weak — a  feeble  worm, 

Apt  to  be  crushed — and  then  not  lend 

My  aid, 

For  I  would  have  thee  tightly  hold  my  hand, 
That  I  may  walk  in  confidence,  and  teach 
Others  of  thy  dear  love;  help  them  to  reach 
Our  home,  that  beauteous,  far-off  land, 

Of  rest. 

I  walk,  and  as  I  go  light  is  around, 
And  joy,  and  peace — all  gladness  in  my  h.-art; 
I  would  not  from  the  path  depart, 
But  of  the  precious  peace  I  have 

Impart, 

And  spread  it  on  from  land  to  land, 
Fill  every  man  with  God's  own  love, 
Give  him  that  mission  from  above, 
That  he  may  join  the  happy  band 

And  sing 

Loud  with  the  psalmist  of  God's  heart, 
Praise  ye  the  Lord,  'tis  good  to  sing 
Praises  of  love  to  our  great  King, 
For  he  is  great,  and  rules  above, 
Commanding  nature  at  his  will, 
E'en  telling  oceans  to  be  still, 
And  yet  he  is  a  God  of  love 

And  merciful. 

--o 

TRUE    FRIENDS. 


WE  know  some  friends  are  found 
Around 


KAKLY  PIECES.  107 

Us,  like  the  stones  upon  the  ground, 
Which,  clustered  o'er  the  fields  away, 
Do  stay. 

But  true  friends  are  not  ever  found 

Around; 

They  are  like  diamonds  'neath  the  ground, 
Which  hold  well  hidden  in  the  earth 

Their  worth. 

Among  the  stones  upon  the  field 

Revealed, 

Some  shine  out  like  the  burnished  shield, 
And  some  like  precious  gems  of  gold, 

Untold. 

But  the  bright  treasures  in  the  mould, 

All  gold, 

Will  never  of  themselves  unfold; 
They  must  be  sought  for,  and  are  found 

Fast  bound. 


LINES 


[On  receiving  a  bunch  of  magnolia  leaves  from  a  distant  friend.] 

LEAVES  fresh  and  green, 

Have  you  sent  to  me; 

They  come,  I  ween, 

From  the  dear  old  tree 
That  stood  in  the  sun  with  nitid  leaves, 
And  caught  all  the  rain  drops  from  the  eaves; 


io8  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

That  whispered  and  sang,  as  through  and  through 
Its  branches  the  musical  South  wind  blew. 

They  seem  to  tremble  and  shake  again, 

As  they  did  before  in  the  wind  and  rain, 

And  the  thoughts  of  dear  days  crowd  through  my 

brain; 

I  am  thinking,  loved  friend  so  good  and  true, 
Of  the  precious  days  that  I  spent  with,  you, 
Of  a  weary  coming  so  gladly  met, 
Of  gentle  kindness  that  lingers  yet, 
Of  a  child  watched  over  with  patient  care, 
Of  impulses  deep  laid  open  and  bare, 
Of  waiting  till  sickness  and  woe  went  by, 
Of  watching  the  dark  clouds  from  the  sky, 
Of  bidding  at  last  a  long  adieu, 
Of  seeing  each  other  fade  from  view, 
One  in  the  city  and  one  on  the  blue. 

I  see  the  strange,  strange  little  town, 
With  its  homely  houses  low  and  brown, 
And  I  hear  the  rush  on  that  rough  old  quay 
Where  you  stood  alone  and  beckoned  to  me; 

I  beckoned  back, 

I  beckoned  again, 

But  I  could  not  stay,  and  my  tears  were  vain. 
I  remember  well,  when  my  tears  were  dry, 
I  watched  the  city  sink  into  the  blue, 
And  the  tall,  tall  palm  trees  against  the  sky 
Were  sentinels  guarding  your  isle,  I  knew, 
As  the  spires  of  the  churches  stood  up  between 
Their  graceful  forms  of  brown  and  green. 


EARLY  PIECES.  109 

Now  when  the  winds  blow  in  your  tropic  clime, 
And  wondrous  flowers  bud  out  in  pride  sublime, 

With  petals  of  white 

In  the  sunny  light; 

When  your  shining  leaves  smile  back  to  the  sun, 
Or  catch  the  dews  when  the  day  is  done, 

I  will  gaze  upon  this, 

My  beautiful  treasure, 

And  drink  a  full  measure 

Of  memory's  bliss. 
1882. 


FIDUS  ACHATES. 


(To  N.) 
ALMOST  a  life 

Of  friendship,  that  to  me 
Was  very  true  and  dear, 

Has  ceased  to  be. 

And  for  a  word 

I  cannot  now  recall, 
Love  I  have  told  thro'  years 

Must  wear  its  pall. 

An  ache,  a  pain 

Throbbing  against  my  heart, 
That  needs  the  sympathy 

It  doth  impart. 

A  cruel  wolind 

For  which  is  there  no  cure 


1 10  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

But  time?     OTime!  soon  make 
Thy  healing  band  secure. 

And  yet  the  hand 

That  brought  the  flowing  blood, 
All  stained, — I  would  but  wet 

And  wash  it  with  a  tearful  flood. 

Who  would  have  said 
That  in  the  after  years, 

Our  friendship  and  our  love, 
Would  bring  us  cause  for  tears? 

What  child  would  think 

When  the  fair  sun  is  bright, 

That  a  few  little  hours 

Shall  bring  the  dark  of  night ! 

That  summer  warmth, 

And  the  sweet  flow'rets  gay, 

Will  in  a  few  short  weeks 
Vanish  and  fade  away  ! 

Or  that  the  sea, 

Calm  as  some  mountain  lake, 
May  soon  dash  angry  waves 

And  make  its  islands  shake ! 

Oh,  what  will  time 

Not  ever  dare  to  do — 

Changing  flowers,  sea,  or  sun, 
And  friendships  dear  and  true? 

Pray,  friend,  that  we, 
In  our  firm  friendship  now,. 


EARLY  PIECES.  1 1 1 

May  never  have  to  wear 
Its  thorns  upon  our  brow. 

Oh!  make  it  then 

So  very  near  thy  heart 
That  years,  with  all  their  wiles, 

May  never  make  us  part. 

Some  things  change  not, 

And  why  need  our  love  change? 

Oh  !  why  need  time  or  age 
Our  trustful  hearts  estrange? 


FOLLOW  ME. 

(JOHN  i  143.) 

"DEAR  Lord,"  I  said,  "  I  cannot  go; 
Cans't  thou  not  give  me  other  work  to  do? 
My  hands  are  feeble  and  my  feet  too  slow. 

'•  I  know  my  offerings  have  been  small, 
But  thou,  O  Lord,  with  goodness  unsurpassed, 
H  ist  taken,  and  with  blessing  paid  them  all. 

"But  if  I  go  unto  those  lands 
Far,  and  away  from  all  I  know  or  love, 
Will  strength  enough  uphold  these  trembling  hands  ? 

"  Could  I  not  labor  here  as  well, 
Teach  some,  and  learn  from  others  as  I  teach, 
Gaining  in  power  and  might  thy  love  to  tell?" 


ii2  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"My  child,"  and  not  in  anger  said, 
A.  voice  did  answer  wondrous  kind  and  sweet, 
"Must  I  yet  tell  thee  o'er  what  thou  hast  read? 

"About  the  fishermen  of  old, 
How  they  made  answer  to  my  'Follow  me,' 
Gave  all  they  had  to  give,  nor  sought,  nor  sold. 

"More,  too,  they  left, — family  and  all, 
Treading  with  patient  feet  the  thorny  path, 
Not  even  fearing  what  might -yet  befall. 

"  Many  a  thorn  tore  the  soft  flesh 
Of  their  too  tender  feet,  while  the  blood  flowed 
As  does  the  juice  from  fruit  that  broken  is,  and  fresh. 

"  Oft  new-healed  wounds  were  torn  again, 
And  nature's  acts  roughly  undone, 
Leaving  behind  a  trail  of  crimson  stain. 

"But  yet  they  followed  me,  until 
White  locks  were  crowns  of  glory  that  they  wore, 
And  their  knees  trembled  as  they  followed  still. 

"Gird  up  thy  loins  with  faith,  my  child ; 
Thou  art  my  servant,  and  I  ask  of  thee 
To  help  us  glean  our  harvest  from  the  wild. 

"For  fields  are  white,  wasting  away, 
And  hoary  heads  bend  low  like  ripened  grain, 
To  fall  and  die,  if  we  provide  no  other  way. 

"Nations  in  darkness  reach  to  me, 
And  call  for  what  they  would  but  know  not  of, 
Striving  in  weary  bonds  for  liberty. 


EARLY  PIECES,  1 1 3 

"And  unto  you  who  now  are  free, 
To  all  rejoicing  in  my  love, 
I  ask  to  tell  the  tale  of  Calvary. 

"I  will  uphold  thee,  do  not  fear, 
My  strength  sufficient  is  for  all  thy  needs; 
I  will  watch  o'er  thee  and  be  ever  near. 

"The  ignorant  have  I  made  wise, 
And  to  the  feeble  I  have  given  strength, 
And  filled  with  hope  the  heart  that  knew  but  sighs. 

"Tongues  that  were  ever  slow  of  speech 
Have  I  made  full  of  words  and  truth  and  fire; 
And  those  as  babes  in  learning  'apt  to  teach.' 

"My  ways  are  not  the  ways  of  man, 
And  so  my  laws  must  ofttimes  differ  from 
E'en  thy  sincere  and  well-intentioned  plan. 

"Therefore  fail  not;  I  bid  thee  go 
And  whisper  in  that  Nation's  ear  the  truth, 
That  I  am  Him  'from  whom  all  blessings  flow.' 

"And  I  will  be  to  thee  a  C.od, 
1  ,oving  thee  as  I  loved  my  Israel, 
Withholding  oft  the  chastening  of  the  rod. 

"Depart,  and  do  not  tarry  long 
In  this  place;  follow  me  to  the  land 
Where  I  have  promised  thou  shalt  soon  belong. 

"Depart,  the  sun  sends  up  his  light 
Already  from  the  eastern  horizon, 
And  when  he  sees  the  west,  it  will  be  night. 


ii4  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"Depart  far  out  to  that  dark  land, 
While  yet  thy  life  is  in  its  eastern  glow, 
That,  sinking  to  the  West,  it  shall  be  grand. 

"Depart,  thou  shalt  not  find  a  king 
More  just  to  guide  his  people  as  they  go 
Far  from  their  home,  or  grant  them  anything. 

"At  last  I  will  not  say,  'Depart,' 
But,  'Welcome,  child,  to  thy  eternal  home,' 
Granting  the  holy  wishes  of  thy  heart. 

"For  I  will  give  thee  lasting  rest 
From  all  that  ever  caused  thee  pain  or  woe, 
And  an  abode  among  the  blissful  blest." 

"I  will  not  tarry,  my  dear  Lord, 
Nor  ask  for  other  work  that  is  not  mine, 
But  do  as  thou  hast  bid,  trusting  thy  word. 

"Strengthen  my  hands,  oh!  make  them  strong 
To  carry  tidings  heavy  with  thy  love, 
And  bear  them  bravely  as  I  pass  along. 

"Direct  my  steps  aright,  my  King, 
And  keep  them  from  the  way  not  sure  or  safe, 
And  from  the  tempting  paths  that  ruin  bring. 

"  So  farewell  all !     I  go  far  hence, 
Taking  my  Master's  hand  and  leaning  hard, 
Looking  with  hope  up  to  the  firmaments, 

"And  wondering  if  I  still  may  look 
Upward  from  earth  to  those  small,  shining  stars, 
When  many  years  have  turned  life  pages  in  my  book; 


EARLY  PIECES.  115 

"  Or  whether  these  same  stars  will  shine 
Upon  my  grave  instead,  while  I  am  far 
Above  them  and  rejoicing  in  a  light  divine. 

"  It  may  be  One  will  watch  from  earth, 
While  one  with  love  watches  from  Heaven, 
Longing  to  welcome  there  another  birth. 

"  It  will  be  well,  and  His  way  best, 
\Vhether  we  toil  long  years,  or  wing 
Gladly  a  flight  to  our  supernal  rest. 

"One  has  gone  there  before  us  all, 
And  she  will  look  and  smile  upon  us,  when 
We  hasten  to  obey  the  Master's  call." 


A  GUEST. 


I  KNOW  not  why,  this  night  my  grief 

Has  all  returned  to  me; 
My  heart  aches  sore,  and  for  relief 

Hot  tears  fall  heavily. 

Sorrows  that  burst  long  years  ago 

Like  dark  waves  over  me, 
Are  here  to-night,  but  ebb  and  flow 

Their  waters  silently. 

I  wonder  much.     Soul,  dost  thou  know? 

But  list !  a  voice  I  hear: 
"  Grief  is  not  subject  to  the  will, 
Nor  reason's  mind  austere. 


n6  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"Thy  grief  thou  canst  not  ever  hide, 

It  heeds  no  sacrifice ; 
No  woe  of  thine  has  ever  died, 
For  no  great  sorrow  dies. 

"It  may  lie  buried  in  the  breast 

Through  weeks  and  months  and  years, 
When,  like  some  unexpected  guest, 
It  suddenly  appears, 

"Yet  welcome  is,  though  bringing  pain 

And  ache  and  mental  rack; 
Though  to  thy  soul  it  once  again 
Bring  such  sad  memories  back." 

Then  welcome  to  my  heart,  O  friend ! 

Take  all  I  hold  as  mine; 
I  will  not  stand  aloof,  but  bend 

My  wish  and  will  to  thine ! 


1K)\V  THE  WATER-LILY  CAME, 

ON  a  sunny  day  in  the  month  of  May. 

A  May-flower  and  a  Lily  met; 
Their  faces  were  bright  in  the  morning  light, 

And  their  cheeks  with  the  dew  were  wet. 

•'Well,"  said  the  flow'r,  "at  this  early  hour, 

'Tis  good  we  are  here,  my  friend; 
I  am  sure  that  we,  if  you  agree, 
May  together  our  pleasure  blend.'' 


EARLY  PIECES.  11; 

The  Lily  blushed  and  with  cheeks  a- flushed 

So  modestly  answered,  "  Yes," 
That  the  May-flower  stood  in  the  shady  wood, 

With  a  heart  full  of  tenderness, 

And  he  put  down  his  face  with  a  pleasing  grace, 

As  he  whispered  into  her  ear, 
"Let  us  go  to  King  May  on  this  summer  day 
And  be  wed  this  very  year." 

So  hand  in  hand  through  the  woody  land, 

They  went  to  the  King  of  May; 
But  sternly  he  said:   "You  can  never  wed 

That  Lily,  as  you  say. 

"We  May-flowers  are  so  v^ry  far 

Above  the  common  race, 
That  I  must  brand  your  strange  demand 
As  exceeding  out  of  place." 

And  the  haughty  king  saw  each  trembling  thing 

Bow  at  his  cruel  look; 
But  he  uttered  the  word,  and  never  stirred 

As  his  palace  they  forsook. 

So  on  they  sped,  for  they  would  wed, 

Whatever  the  king  might  say, 
Till  they  came  to  a  stream  where  a  merry  gleam 

Led  into  a  pleasant  way. 

But  all  seemed  foes,  and  of  their  woes 

Did  not  care  to  hear  them  tell; 
How  they  met,  and  love  from  its  flight  above 

Had  come  in  their  hearts  to  dwell. 


ji8  VKKSKS  FROM  TIIK  VALLI.V. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  blind  old  dame. 

Who  lived  by  the  water's  side; 
Her  face  was  yellow,  but  soft  and  mellow, 

And  her  hands  were  smooth  and  wide. 

Then,  growing  bold,  the  May-flower  told 

Of  his  love  for  the  Lily  maid; 
How  the  King  of  May,  that  very  day, 

Had  refused  to  lend  them  aid. 

But  the  Lily  cried,  "  I  can  be  your  bride, 

For  the  king  is  far  away; 
And  I  surely  think,  at  this  brooklet's  brink, 

We  should  let  our  hearts  be  gay." 

Now  the  blind  old  dame  was  known  to  fame, 

And  secrets  of  men  she  told; 
By  snapping  a  pod  she  became  a  god, 

And  wise  as  a  sage  of  old. 

To  the  Lily  she  said,  "  Your  life  I  have  read 

By  the  lines  in  your  pretty  face; 
Here  is  the  bend  where  your  troubles  end, 

This  is  your  resting-place. 

"Not  many  days  hence  will  some  bright  days  comment •, 

For  a  son  shall  inherit  your  name; 
And  an  honor  will  he  to  his  country  be, 
Yea,  bring  you  a  lasting  fame." 

So  saying  she  took  a  leaf  from  her  book 

And  gave  to  the* Lily  fair; 
Her  book  was  a  rose  that  blossoms  and  blows, 

With  color  and  fragrance  rare. 


EARLY  PIECES.  119 

Then  she  made  them  a  boat,  and  in  it  they  float, 

On  the  cairn  of  a  rippling  lake; 
As  they  merrily  play  and  laughingly  say,. 
"  Let  us  now  of  this  beverage  take." 

As  soon  as  they  drink,  the  dame  gives  a  wink, 
And  the  lake  sinks  them  into  its  breast, 

Where  away  from  all  dross  they  sink  to  the  moss, 
And  partake  of  the  pleasure,  of  rest. 

'  Oh,  happy  the  day  when  we  followed  the  way 

That  led  to  this  gay  retreat !  " 
And  they  sang  to  the  mosses,  which,  with  vain  little  tosses, 

Laughed  back  in  their  voices  so  sweet. 

Now  the  Lily  looked  wise,  and  a  light  in  her  eyes 

Betokened  the  end  of  their  mission ; 
For  her  mind  was  at  rest,  and  in  it  imprest 

The  leaflet's  wondrous  commission. 

Soon,  Lucina  came  down  to  the  watery  town, 

And  attended  the  birth  of  one 
Who  was  fair  as  the  rose — though  in  water  he  grows, 

While  he  lifts  up  his  face  to  the  sun. 

The  mosses  were  gay,  and,  in  royal  array, 

Shouted  loud  at  the  birth  of  a  prince; 
For  he  rose  to  the  top  of  the  rippling  drop, 

And  has  smiled  to  the  sun  ever  since. 

No w  they  sleep 'neath  the  mosses,  and  the  water-lid  tosses 

His  head  in  the  shining  sun; 
And  he  bears  on  his  breast  the  picture  and  crest 

Of  those  whose  journey  is  done. 


(20  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

If  ever  you  float  in  your  pleasure-boat, 

And  come  to  a  Lily  fair, 
Just  ask  for  his  history,  and  the  wonderful  mystery 

He  will  tell  with  a  pleasing  air, 

Flow  he  came  to  be  named  and  so  wonderfully  fanned; 

How  his  beauty  is  never  surpassed  ; 
His  mother  was  Lily,  and  he,  Water-lily, 

Has  been  called  from  the  first  to  the  last. 
1878. 


AT    EVENING, 


'Tis  autumn  evening,  and  the  sun, 
Fast  sinking,  tells  his  work  is  done; 
(ireat  cumulous  clouds  are  colored  bright 
With  many  shades  of  varying  light, 
And  hills  and  mountains  throw  their  shadows  o'er 
A  grassy  meadow  or  some  cottage  door. 
Across  the  fields  they  move  and  still  keep  on, 
Until  the  fading  day's  last  beam  is  gone; 
Until  the  mountains,  wrapt  in  sombrous  night, 
Spread  like  huge  giants  up  against  the  light. 
Now,  far  beyond,  the  sun  sends  up  its  smile. 
Which  here  and  there  the  golden  clouds  beguile; 
And  near  the  sun,  above  the  forest  green, 
Small  specks  of  gold  and  silver  may  be  seen, 
Which  move,  like  visions  in  the  eye  of  man, 
That  shine,  then  fade,  and  then  shine  out  again. 
The  earth  is  silent,  all  her  voice  is  still; 


EARLY  PIECES.  121 

The  ploughman  rests  his  steed;  and  at  the  mill 
Waters,  now  unrestrained,  rush  to  their  course, 
And  seek  a  pebbly  bed  with  murmur  hoarse. 
Soon  as  the  lighter  clouds  are  gone, 
Huge  forms,  fantastically  drawn, 
Hover  about  the  darkened  earth 
And  wreathe  it  with  a  horizontal  girth. 
Above,  the  heavens  shine  out  in  twinkling  dots, 
As  though  some  painter  carelessly  made  spots 
By  shaking  paint  into  the  spreading  blue, 
The  first  ones  larger  and  of  whiter  hue, 
Then  others  smaller,  till  at  last,  in  play, 
He  shakes  his  brush  and  forms  the  Milky  Way. 
The  moon  is  absent  from  the  starry  vault, 
Because- -in  very  truth  a  dark  cloud's  fault- 
She  screens  her  face,  and  from  us  hides  the  light, 
That  soon  would  chase  the  timid  shades  of  night. 
Hut  see!  she  bolder  grows  with  longing  face, 
And  casts  her  veil  into  another  place. 
Quickly  weird  forms  of  shadow  shyly  glide 
By  forests  dense  or  to  the  mountain-side,  • 
And  some  to  other  places  turn  their  feet, 
Fast,  faster  yet,  for  light  is  very  fleet, 
Thus  do  they  (lit  and  flee  or  now  return, 
As  the  mild  guardian  of  these  hours  may  learn 
The  inner  secrets  of  a  cautious  night, 
And  change  its  gloomy  spirits  into  light. 

'Tis  autumn  every  year,  and  oftener,  too, 

The  sun  goes  down,  shades  come,  and  stars  shine  true. 

Oh!  should  we  not  thank  God  for  such  a  sight 


122  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

As  fading  sunset  and  a  starry  night; 
Intelligence  to  read  those  distant  spheres, 
And  earth's  relation  to  them  all  in  rolling  years? 
For  when  we  sit  beneath  God's  wondrous  sky, 
To  view  his  work — stupendous  work  on  high — 
We  with  the  psalmist  would  rejoice  and  say, 
How  excellent  is  His  name  from  day  to  day, 
Night  unto  night  shows  knowledge  of  his  power, 
Nor  speech  nor  language  can  above  it  tower. 


TO  M.  J.  A.  P. 

MY  friend,  our  village  poet, 
Unto  thee  I  sing  this  song. 

Wilt  thou  hear  it?     Wilt  thou  take  it? 
For  it  doth  to  thee  belong. 

Oft  have  I  admired  thy  music, 
Chords  and  harmonies  so  sweet, 

And  thy  soft  and  gentle  rhythm 
So  with  joy  my  heart  doth  greet, 

That  I  cannot  keep  from  singing, 
Cannot  keep  thee  from  thy  praise, 

But  with  pleasure  in  the  duty 
Would  mine  Ebenezer  raise. 

Young  art  thou,  but  there  is  promise 
Thou  wilt  sing  the  poet's  lays, 

Which  will  bring  thee  to  remembrance 
In  the  long  and  future  days. 


KAKLY   I'IKCKS.  123 

Strains  will  echo  from  thy  mountains 

And  resound  along  the  bays, 
With  a  soft  reverberation 

Up  our  steep,  romantic  ways, 

And  some  day  we  may  be  singing 

Songs  that  claim  their  birth  from  thee; 

Reaching  back  in  their  returning 
Like  some  loved  and  lost  Ami. 

Though  thy  flowers  be  few  in  number, 

We  have  promise  still  of  more; 
For  the  plant  that  blossoms  early 

Always  keeps  some  buds  in  store, 

Aad  these  buds  will  surely  blossom, 

Ope  their  petals  wide — and  send, 
Out  to  every  land  and  nation, 

Fragrance  from  my  poet  friend. 

So  in  parting  I  would  thank  thee 
Once  again,  and  then  farewell, 
But  remember  that  thy  name  is 
In  the  land  of  song  to  dwell. 
Quebec,  1879. 


I  DID  NOT  KNOW. 


DKATH,  I  can  greet  thee  now,  and  gladly  take  thy  hand, 
That  leads  so  far  down  in  the  narrow  way, 
Through  the  drear  valley,  to  the  other  land. 


124  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Once  I  did  shudder  at  the  thought  that  this  grim  death 
Some  day  would  lead  me  to  himself,  and  take 
This  beating  life,  my  soul,  and  all  my  breath. 

And  oft,  when  nearing  to  the  twilight  hour,  or  night, 
Sad  thoughts  would  tell  my  heart  their  secrets  o'er, 
And  dwell  upon  the  parting,  and  life's  fight; 

How  some,  though  weary  of  their  own  existence, 
When  came,  at  last,  the  awful  gloom  of  death, 
AVould  seek  to  live,  and  struggle  in  resistance; 

Then,  looking  at  our  earth,  more  firmly  would  I  say, 
"I  cannot  leave  my  home  --this  happy  world — 
For  death — that  world  of  darkness — not  a  day." 

I  loved  to  think  about  the  land  of  pearly  gates, 
As  something  far  and  ever  out  of  reach, 
lie-Id  dec])  within  the  womb  of  future  fates. 

lint  for  myself,  1  loved  the  world,  its  pomp  and  show, 
The  empty  pleasures  which  it  gives,  and  short, 
Because  God's  lesson  yet  I  did  not  know. 

All  is  not  told  thee  why  I  do  not  fear  death  more, 
But  long  to  see  him  take  his  hour-glass  up 
Firmly,  and  say,  "  Prepare,  thy  course  is  o'er." 

All  would  be  more  than  thou  couldst  wish  to  hear, 

Of  agonizing  sorrow,  grief,  and  pain; 

Loss  of  my  home,  and  what,  I  pray,  more  dear? 

A  husband  lay  upon  his  bed  in  feverish  dreams  ; 
His  children  two,  and  mine,  nearing  the  end, 
That  reached  them  just  before  the  morning  beams. 


EARLY  PIECES.  125 

Death  entered,  and  without  a  note  of  warning 
Market  on  his  glass  the  measure  of  each  life, 
And  took  them  all,  my  very  own,  ere  morning. 

How  did  I  pray  and  plead  that  I  might  keep  but  one, 
But  still  relentless  heard  he  not  my  voice, 
Leaving  me  broken-hearted  at  the  rising  sun. 

When  weary  eyes  so  full  of  light  not  long  ago, 
Closed  with  the  constant  pleading  of  the  pain, 
My  heart  no  more  withstood;  I  knelt,  bowed  low. 

I  did  not  weep  a  flood  of  tears,  but  sadly  knelt 
Down  by  the  side  of  my  departed  own 
In  agony,  not  knowing  what  I  felt. 

And  then  I  prayed  to  Him  who  brings  all  lasting  pear  e, 
That  He  would  calm  my  proud,  rebellious  heart 
With  rest  from  sources  that  can  never  cease. 

God  gave  me  peace  and  hope,  that  blissful  hope 
Which  faith  and  trust  and  love  only  can  bring, 
And  which  enlarged  my  vision  and  my  scope. 

1  know  full  well  pain  went  not  from  my  heart  that  day, 
(lod  knows  the  aching  void  I  felt  for  years 
Succeeding,  but  1  knew  God's  better  way. 

Now,  many  years  have  passed  away;  they  still  go  on, 

And  speed  me  onward  to  eternity, 

As  shadows  fall  upon  me,  ere  the  dawn. 

Still  there  is  pleasure  in  the  thought,  "  I'm  going  home," 
And  that  my  Master  needs  me  here  no  more 
To  toil  alone,  to  sorrow,  or  to  roam. 


126  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

And  what  a  glorious  greeting  when  I  reach  the  land ; 

Past  all  temptation,  and  all  weary  pain ; 

Led  through  the  journey  safe  by  his  right  hand! 

A  strong  and  guiding  hand  will  surely  lead  me  on, 
Keep  all  my  steps;  while  little  hands  of  love 
Will  lighten  burdens  till  the  night  is  gone. 

Now  dost  though  wonder  yet,  when  all  my  work  is  done, 
That  I  should  wish,  and  watch,  and  wait  alway, 
For  death  to  tell  me  that  my  race  is  run  ? 

For,  nearing  to  the  twilight  hour,  or  night, 
Sweet  thoughts  will  tell  my  heart  their  secrets  o'er, 
And  dwell  upon  the  meeting  and  life's  flight. 


TO  MY  BROTHER. 


[On  his  birthday.] 

Do  you  remember — ah  !  how  could  you  forget— 
Those  sacred  evenings  when  the  sun  had  set, 
That  recess  high  and  small  beneath  the  attic  stairs 
Where  we  were  wont  to  creep  oft  unawares ; 
And  where  the  hours  did  glide  so  fast,  when  evening  came 
It  caught  us  building  castles  great  in  airy  fame? 
How  many  did  we  build,  how  great,  how  high, 
False  pictures  of  the  mfsty  by  and  by! 
Then  twilight  hour  would  catch  us  there  to  add  anew; 
We  would  be  noble  knights  who  bravely  thousands  slew? 
With  sword  and  shield  we  fought  like  bloody  men, 
Or  lived  like  pirates  in  some  gloomy  den. 


EARLY  PIECES.  127 

But  ever  when  we  spoke  of  deeds  we  should  not  do, 
Conscience  would  smite  us  hard  and  better  feelings  woo; 
Remind  us  of  the  very  things  we  knew, 
That  better  was  the  good  man  than  the  one  who  slew. 
Or  when  grim  shadows  made  our  recess  dark  as  night, 
Knowing  our  former  themes  were  wrong,  we  turned  them 

right, 

And  talked  of  being  men  of  truth  and  valor  strong, 
Who  fought,  if  need  be,  to  resist  the  wrong. 
And  you  remember  Sabbaths,  how  they  passed ! 
Those  days,  when  we  must  do  our  duty  plain, 
Learn  Bible  verses,  and,  forgetting,  learn  again, 
Until  dear  mother,  satisfied  we  knew  them  well, 
Would  bid  us  sit  and  listen  while  she'd  tell, 
Not  tales  of  wild  adventure,  but  of  old; 
Of  David,  of  the  temple  and  its  gold! 
These  were  our  romances  ;  of  Joseph  would  we  hear, 
His  childhood  and  captivity — his  father's  fear. 
And  when  she  told  of  Jesus,  oh !  better  far  than  all, 
Our  hearts  would  throb.    Why  should  they  give  him  gall? 
We  would  exclaim  with  earnest,  flowing  tears. 
It  touched  us  then — our  hearts  were  tender  as  our  years. 
Why  can  we  not  e'er  live  in  childhood  and  enjoy 
Pleasures  like  these — as  free  from  all  alloy? 
Why  should  each  year  bring  with  it  added  care, 
And  make  this  world  to  us  less  kind  and  fair? 
His  will  it  is.     Time  speeds  us  on  and  on; 
Obey  we  must,  to  find  that  youth  is  gone; 
Each  birthday  comes,  leaving  one  year  behind, 
Which  passes  from  us  like  a  sad  thought  from  the  mind. 
And  thus  in  youth,  glad  days,  we  longed  to  be 


128  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Sailors  on  life's  wild,  boisterous  sea. 
The  time  is  now,  and  our  fond  dreams  we  meet, 
Perhaps  as  men  of  valor,  but  with  feeble  feet. 
Our  knights  of  youth  are  gone,  our  castles  high 
Flown  from  us  like  the  nervous  butterfly, 
And  though  we  realize  the  dreams  of  being  men, 
Little  are  they  like  dreams  when  you  were  ten; 
And  age  must  come,  and  childhood  pass  away, 
For  time  is  fleeting  and  our  life  a  day. 


IN  A  SCHOOL-MATE'S  ALBUM. 


SHOW  your  true  colors,  and  the  flag  unfurl 

Of  your   just  Principle.     Into  the  wind 

Free  let  it  wave,  and  o'er  the  lightnings  fierce 

Of  Opposition.     If  drops  of  rain  do, 

Fulling  from  Slander's  cloud,  now  make  it  droop, 

Soon  as  the  storm  bursts  loud  the  flag  will  spread 

Abroad  its  folds,  shaking  the  rain  from  off 

Their  colors  bright,  and  show  how  they  were  made 

More  fair  and  bright  for  their  slight  dampening. 


THE  TWO  ROADS. 


Two  roads  are  ever  ready 
For  travelers  who  know  not  the  way, 
Each  leads  through  a  lonely  valley, 
And  one  to  a  pleasant  city; 


EARLY  PIECES.  129 

Both  guide  to  an  endless  day. 
And  the  road  that  leads  to  the  city 
Is  plain  with  His  smile  o'er  the  way, 
But  the  other  is  ever  leading 
Its  many  far  out  and  astray. 
i879. 


NICODEMUS. 


THERE  was  a  man,  a  Pharisee, 
A  learned  one  and  wise, 
Who  came  to  Jesus  and  by  night 
Inquired  of  him  for  the  precious  light 
That  never  dies. 

And  Jesus,  willing  then,  as  now, 
Told  him  the  story  o'er, 
How  that  he,  and  every  sinful  man, 
To  be  free  from  sin  must  be  born  again, 
As  once  before. 

But  the  wise  and  learned  ruler 
Knew  not  what  Jesus  said, 
For,  doubting  yet,  he  could  not  see 
How  now  or  ever  these  things  could  be 
That  he  never  read. 

And  He  still  tells  on  the  story 
In  his  word  to  us  each  day. 
Pointing,  with  love  and  pity 
Up  to  the  wondrous  city, 
A  way 

9 


130  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

That  leads  to  a  grand  old  city, 
Where  many  mansions  be, 
With  shining  streets  of  heavenly  gold, 
Where  all  can  His  dear  face  behold 

And  see 
1879. 

o — 

APPLE    BLOSSOMS. 


PRETTY  apple  blossoms, 
Blossoms  pure  and  fair, 

Sending  luscious  fragrance 
Through  the  morning  air, 

Make  me  think  of  snow-flakes 
Covering  all  the  trees, 

Dropped  in  dire  confusion 
By  some  careless  breeze. 

Here  and  there  a  pink  bud 
Hides  its  modest  face, 

Then,  unfolding  slowly 
With  a  beauteous  grace, 

Opens  wide  its  petals 
To  our  wondering  view, 

And  becomes  a  blossom 
Perfect,  full,  and  true. 

Let  away  one  summer 
With  its  pleasant  sun, 

And  the  apple  blossom's 
Little  life  is  done. 


EARLY  PIECES.  131 

While,  instead,  great  apples, 

Green  and  red  and  brown, 
Turn  their  fair  cheeks  toward  you, 

Asking  to  come  down  ! 


TWO  SOLILOQUIES. 

[Which  have  not  yet  reached  the  ears  of  Cupid  and  Opportunity.] 

HE. 
I  LOVE  a  lass  so  very  much, 

I  think  a  lass  loves  me. 
I  have  no  courage  to  express 
That  love;  has  she? 

SHE. 

That  funny  boy,  I  love  him  well ; 

He  seems  to  love  me  too, 
And  were  I  in  his  place — I  know 

What  I  should  do. 


TO  MAY. 


I  KNOW  a  pretty  maiden, 
Whose  large  blue  eyes 

Do  often  make  me  think 
Of  summer  skies! 

As  bright  and  clear  they  look, 
As  far  and  deep, 


132  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Hiding  from  busy  Time 
The  thoughts  they  keep, 

Which,  if  they're  like  her  eyes, 
I  now  would  know, 

What  fairer  thoughts  than  these 
Could  live  below. 

Sometimes  clouds  come  and  make 
Tears  fall  like  rain; 

But  then  the  sun  soon  comes 
And  shines  again. 

I  hope  few  clouds  may  pass 
O'er  those  blue  eyes, 

Like  some  which  often  vex 
The  summer  skies; 

But  may  they  always  be 

Free  from  a  care, 
And  see  the  world  as  kind 

As  they  are  fair. 


IN  AN  ALBUM, 


MANY  are  the  years  which  come, 
And  many  the  ones  that  go; 

Upon  our  hearts  in  this  rolling  time> 
Shall  the  light  of  our  friendship  glow? 


EARLY  PIECES.  133 

DE  GOOD  OLE  DAYS. 


TSE  ole  an'  gray, 

An'  de  only  way 

I  spen'  de  hours  dat  go, 

Am  to  tink  ob  de  days  .when  I  were  young, 

Of  de  kin'  ole  peepil  I  libbed  among, 

Of  de  days  dat  come  no  mo'. 

Fer  dis  hair  am  white, 

An'  de  glory  light 

Dat  shine  on  de  earf  an'  you, 

Am  darker  to  me  dan  my  niggah  skin; 

No  nebber  a  gleam  ob  it  do  shine  in, 

Not  a  speck  ob  de  light  shine  froo. 

I  would  lub  to  see 

Jess  one  bush  or  tree 

Ob  de  big  plantation  groun', 

Dat  I  wo'k  upon  in  dose  happy  days 

When  de  darkeys  sung  all  de  sweetes'  lays, 

An'  play  wid  de  merr-go-roun'. 

Ole  Massa  he  come, 

An'  fetch  de  big  drum 

In  de  ev'nin'  when  we  dance, 

An'  Sambo  an  Mose  play  de  violeen— 

Oh !  dat  were  the  pretties'  sight  I  seen, 

To  see  all  the  niggahs  prance! 

Dere  war  Chlo  an'  Moll, 
My  Dinah  an'  Poll; 


i34  VERSES  i  ROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Dere  war  Pete  an'  Sam  an'  Jo, 
Dese  all  war  my  friends — but  de  udder  ban's 
Come  togedder,  and  soon  we  all  joins  ban's — 
Dere  war  Roosh  an'  many  mo'. 

Dan  massa  would  say, 
"Now  come  dis  way, 
You  hab  dance  enuff  to-night; 
Here  am  good  sweet  candy  for  one  an'  all, 
Help  you'selves  to  'lasses,  bof  great  and  small, 
And  each  pull  wid  all  tha  might." 

How  we  pull  an'  tear 

Done  stick  up  our  hair, 

An'  run  all  de  'lasses  dry, 

An'  den  we  sit  down  by  the  moonlight  an'  sing 

Dem  deah  ole  songs  dat  still  does  ring, 

Fit  enuff  to  make  me  cry. 

An'  now  when  I  tink 

My  ole  heart  do  sink. 

An*  teahs  comes  into  my  eyes, 

Fer  Dinah,  my  wife,  an'  de  udder  fren's 

Is  gone  an'  am  singin'  da  sweet  amens 

In  dat  Ian'  beyond  de  skies. 

An'  I  bress  de  Lord 

An'  his  holy  word 

Dat  I'll  see  de  light  once  mo', 

Dat  he'll  gib  me  soon  dat  fair  Ian'  to  see, 

Where  all  my  deah  niggah  fren's  '11  be, 

Dat  Ian'  on  the  udder  sho'. 


EARLY  PIECES.  135 

Fer  Fse  ole  an'  gray, 
An'  de  ondly  way 
I  spen'  de  hours  dat  go, 
Am  to  tink  ob  de  days  when  I  were  young, 
Ob  the  kin'  ole  peepil  I  libbed  among — 
Ob  de  days  dat  come  no  mo'. 
Danville,  Va.,  November,  1881. 


COME  'LONG,  SINNAH, 

COME  'long,  sinnah, 

Come  an'  be  save1, 
Ef  you  doan  do  it, 

You's  goin'  to  de  grave. 
De  Lord  his  arm  am  mighty, 

De  Lord  his  lub  am  great, 
An  ef  you  ondly  ax  him, 

You'll  nebber  hab  to  wait. 

Come  'long,  sinnah, 

Oh!  doan  delay, 
Jesus  am  waitin', 

An'  mebby  he  can't  stay, 
Fer  he  hab  odder  bus'ness 

Dat  call  him  roun'  de  globe, 
An'  now's  de  time  to  gib  him 

Ycu'  order  fer  a  robe. 


136  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Come  'long,  brudder, 

What  am  you  'bout, 
All  de  days  you  hab 

E'll  soon  be  runnin'  out, 
An'  all  de  souls  you's  leavin' 

To  go  along  in  sin, 
Will  poun'  de  gates  ob  Hebben 

Fer  you  to  let  dem  in. 

Den,  O  brudder! 

What'll  you  say, 
WThen  all  dose  sinnahs 

From  Hebben's  kep'  away? 
I  tink  you  will  be  wishin' 

Wid  all  your  might  an'  main 
Dat  massa,  he  would  gib  you 

One  little  chance  again. 

You,  too,  sistah, 

What  am  you'  song? 
You  to  de  minstrels 

Ob  Hebben  does  belong, 
An'  dis  yere  am  you'  mission 

To  sing  de  jubilee; 
To  tell  de  worl'  from  bondage, 

De  Lord  hab  set  it  free. 
Columbia,  S.  C.,  1881. 


AS  WE  GWINE  TURNIN'  ROUN 


DEY  tells  us  dat  dis  earf  am  roun' 
An'  ervolves  in  de  air, 


EARLY  PIECES.  137 

Turnin'  an'  turnin',  but  I  believe 

Dat  dis  yere  am  not  fair, 
An'  we  could  nebber  hab  got  heah 

Widout  some  climbin'  stair. 

De  idee  dat  ou'  Lord  would  put 

Us  on  a  rollin'  ball, 
An'  let  us  scramble  to  ou'selves 

Wid  likelerhood  to  fall, 
Am  not  de  way  to  keep  his  own, 

I  does  not  tink,  at  all. 

Ef  dat  be  so,  de  Lord  know  when 

De  watahs  ob  de  sea, 
Might  come  a-swoopin'  all  about 

To  swalla  you  an'  me; 
An'  also  would  de  Lord  know  whar 

De  res'  ob  us  would  be? 

I'se  gwine  to  tell  you  dis,  my  fren', 

Dat  settle  all  de  case, 
Dere  am  in  ole  Kentucky  State 

A  mighty  lastin'  place, 
Dat  all  de  movin'  ob  de  globe 

Hab  nebber  yet  deface'. 

De  house  hab  stan'  dere  fer  a  time 

Dat  you  an'  me  can't  name, 
An'  ef  you  goes  dar  you  will  fin' 

It's  stan'in'  jess  de  same. 
I  knows  dis  talk  about  de  earf 

Am  all  a  bluffin'  game. 


VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Dat's  so — da  ole  house  nebber  could 
Hab  stuck  on  to  de  groun,' 

Per  ebbery  stone  were  loose  an'  would 
Be  shu'  to  tumble  down, 

Jess  when  dey  reach  de  under  side 
As  we  gwine  turnin'  roun'. 


TRANSLATIONS 

o 

MARGUERITE. 


[From  the  French  of  Madame  Jenna.] 
"  IN  the  morning,  Margaret, 
When  the  fields  with  dews  are  wet, 
Tell  me,  as  you  dreaming  go, 
And  against  the  flowers  below 
Press  you  close  your  brow  of  snow ; 
Tell  me  what  unto  the  flower 
You  are  whispering  every  hour?" 
"This  I  whisper:  'Holy  gift! 
Broken  from  celestial  rift, 
BeautiCul  and  silent  star; 
Though  thine  odors  reach  afar, 
Happier  far  than  lot  of  thine 
Is  this  happy  lot  of  mine, 
For  I  hold  a  heart  divine ! ' ' 

"What  say  you  now,  Margaret, 
To  the  brook  that  murmurs  yet. 
And  invites  you  to  a  seat 
On  its  banks,  where  waters  fleet 
Hurry  by  with  music  sweet?" 

"This  I  say:  {O  ribbon  stream  ! 
Singing  voice  of  living  dream, 


VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

On  whose  crystal  bosom  shine 
Reed,  and  bud  of  eglantine; 
Willow  branch,  and  insect  bright, 
Pictured  there  by  ray  of  light, 
Happier  am  I  far  than  thou; 
God  with  reason  did  endow 
Her  who  speaketh  to  thee  now  ! ' )r 

"  What  words  now,  my  Margaret, 
Say  you  to  the  birds  that  flit 
From  the  village  to  the  tree; 
From  these  banks  to  foot-paths  free? 
Speak  to  them  and  then  to  me." 
"All  I  say  is,  'Faithful  friends 
Of  mankind  and  flower,  ye  send 
Out  your  wings  in  every  place 
With  a  quick  and  easy  grace ; 
All  your  song  is  free  from  sighs, 
In  your  breasts  no  sorrows  rise, 
But  more  happy  far  than  ye— 
I  shall  live  eternally.'" 


DUST  TO  DUST. 


[From  the  French.] 

I. 

DUST  to  dust, 
Iron  to  rust, 

Soon  shall  crumble  and  fall 
Into  mould  and  decay, 


TRANSLATIONS.  141 

And  vanish  away, 
Yea,  all. 

Blades  of  grass, 

Pillars  of  brass, 
Mountains  of  rugged  rock, 
Trees  that  grow  high  and  tall, 
Creatures  both  great  and  small 
That  walk 

Or  that  fly, 

Under  the  sky, 
All  shall  wear  into  dust; 
All  shall  dissolve  the  same, 
Be  what  they  may  in  name, 
And  rust. 

Loved  things  here 

Shall  disappear, 
And  from  our  poor  sense  go; 
Death  around  all  the  earth 
Closely  has  drawn  its  girth 
Of  woe. 

II. 

Nothing  that  is  shall  cease  to  be, 
Nothing  through  all  eternity"; 
Dust  or  iron,  or  birds  that  fly, 
Nothing  that  liveth  beneath  the  sky, 

Blades  of  grass, 

Pillars  of  brass : 
All  shall  be  that  e'er  has  been, 
Somewhere,  somehow,  hid  or  seen; 
Nothing  shall  die,  though  change  is  writ 
Into  life  and  over  it. 


142  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

FRAGMENT. 


[From  the  French.] 

AM  I  like  those  yellow  leaves,  cried  I, 
Which  are  falling  to  wither,  and  fade  and  die  ? 
Shall  I  crumble  to  dust  like  them,  and  stay 
Only  a  part  of  the  earth's  decay? 

And  a  voice  deep  within  me  did  then  reply, 
"Man,  why  dost  thou  question  thus?  oh,  why? 
For  know  there  is  in  thee  a  soul  which  must 
Rise  higher  than  earth,  or  death,  or  dust; 
'Tis  an  essence  from  God  and  ne'er  can  it  die, 
Though  the  casket  that  holds  it  in  clay  shall  lie. 

GOD. 


[From  the  French."! 

OF  God's  eternity  do  all  things  tell. 
If  depths  we  see  not,  shall  we  them  ignore? 
All  nature  sings  his  never-ending  power, 
And,  with  its  voicing  heart,  bids  us  adore. 


THE  SWEET  NIGHTS. 


[From  the  Spanish.] 
SWEETLY  the  sweet  nights  come 
And  sweetly  they  go, 
Like  strains  of  some  music,  soft  and  low; 
While  outward  we  follow  with  senses  numb, 


TRANSLATIONS.  143 


We  are  going,  we  know, 
But  our  voices  are  dumb; 
And  we  never  return, 
Though  the  sweet  nights  come. 

ARCANA. 


[From  the  French.] 

O  PRETTY  cheeks,  whose  dimples  deep 
Now  in  sweet  pink  nests  snugly  sleep, 
Do  but  awaken,  and  your  smile 
Will  every  human  heart  beguile! 
O  beaming  eyes!  pray  tell  me  why 
In  your  dark  orbs  such  myst'ries  lie ! 
And  tell  me,  too,  ye  red,  red  lips, 
Your  chapters  of  Apocalypse  ! 
o 

APHORISM. 

[French.] 

HE  who  to  live  aright  doth  try, 
Will  live  aright,  and  so  will  die. 
o 

FAITH. 

TRUSTING  the  Lord 
Thy  faith  will  grow; 
His  will  thy  will  shall  be, 
And  thou  shalt  know, 
Through  every  trial,  every  woe, 
Full  perfect  peace  below. 


KLORIDIANA. 


[A  Medley.] 

FOR  Mexico  did  lave 
With  her  soft  wave 

Our  prow; 

While  we,  a  jolly  crew, 
Who  each  the  other  knew, 
Talked,  sang,  or  read, 
Then  sank  the  lead, 
To  find  how  deep 
Some  waters  sleep. 
Sometimes  we  cast  our  eyes  afar, 
Over  the  waste  of  waters  blue, 
And  saw  there  often  what  we  knew 
Would  soon  our  peaceful  sailing  mar, 
The  nucleus  of  a  squall, 
Clouds  large  and  dark, 
Frowned  on  our  bark, 
In  ominous  threat  of  what  us  might  befall. 
And  so  we  moved  on  toward  the  nearer  shore, 
Lest  we  the  unknown  farther  need  explore. 
(144) 


FLORIDIANA.  145 


Then  no  church  bell 
Would  toll  our  knell! 
How  sad  'twould  be  for  us  to  feel 
That  we  had  known  the  last  of  weal, 
And  that  we  all  must  give  our  lives, 
For  others  who  would  take  our  wives, 
And  gobble  up  our  real  estate 
As  fish  do  gobble  up  the  bait, 
But  find  the  hook,  alas,  too  late ! 
Now  did  our  fattest  man 
Step  to  the  bznk; 
Gaily  along  he  ran 
Holding  the  frying  pan, 
Sign  of  his  rank. 
"  Anchored  at  last,"  one  said, 
As  he  looked  overhead 
Into  the  sky, 

Saying  that  the  false  wind 
Had  quickly  changed  its  mind, 
As  women  do, 
To  trouble  brew. 
This  spake  our  Boston  man, 
Who  bore  a  Southern  tan, 
This  and  some  more, 
Which  to  your  ears,  we  may, 
If  you  are  willing,  tell  some  day. 

CANTO  I. 


\Dolce  far  niente.~\ 
In  style  befitting 

We  were  sitting 
10 


146  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Under  some  waving  trees, 

While  summer  bees 

Buzzed  all  about  our  ears, 

And  oft  aroused  our  fears, 

Yet  did  not  deign  to  sting, 

Or  threaten  anything. 

Near  by  the  streets  with  sand  were  filled, 

Since  Tampa's  mayor  had  calmly  willed 

That  he  would  ever  let  them  be 

Loose  samples  of  antiquity. 

Weary  one  day  of  idle  ease, 

Of  sitting  under  shady  trees, 

We  took  advantage  of  the  breeze, 

And  started  up  on  Tampa's  stream 

In  a  small  skiff,  wherein  a  scheme 

We  set  about  to  ventilate. 

Far  up  the  river, 

Where  tall  reeds  shiver, 

And  water-turkeys  shake  their  sides; 

Where  alligators  show  their  hides, 

And  other  ugly  things  besides, 

We  took  our  way,  floating  along, 

Like  echoes  of  some  merry  song. 

Bananas  grew  on  every  side, 

Pine-apples  sent  their  fragrance  wide, 

While  the  fair  orange  glistening  from  its  tree 

Was  now  a  beauteous  thing  to  see; 

Now  here  and  there  a  stately  pair 

Of  palm  trees  kept  each  other  company. 

There  the  guava,  with  its  slim  white  waist, 


FLORIDIANA.  147 

Made  us  think  how  guavas  taste, 

And  the  odd  mangrove  whose  strange  roots  are  seen 

As  waters  pass  beneath  them  and  between. 

'Twas  up  the  Lockapopka  stream 

Where  we  were  floating  like  a  dream, 

Restful  but  real,  until  we  came 

To  one  called  Benjamin  by  name, 

Who  had  a  boat 

That  well  could  float 

On  any  river  or  on  sea, 

With  quite  becoming  dignity. 

This  did  he  aptly  call  the  Pet, 

Because  its  sides  had  oft  been  wet 

With  spray  and  foam, 

When,  tossing  on  the  waters  gay, 

It  courage  kept,  though  far  from  home. 

Many  the  time  its  helm  was  cast 

Into  the  great  and  moving  vast, 

When  creaking  cord  and  straining  mast 

Could  scarce  resist  the  coming  blast; 

But  the  brave  Pet 

Continued  yet, 

And  soon  became  a  favorite. 

But  now  she  lay  upon  her  side, 

As  some  were  painting  her  in  colors  gay, 

That  she  might  once  more  sail  away. 

Ah,  what  a  sun  shone  out  that  day ! 

So  warm  and  bright,  yet  did  not  say, 
"  You  must  not  work  while  I  am  out," 

But  kindly  let  us  move  about. 
"  Boys,"  cried  out  crafty  Benjamin, 


148  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"  This  boat  must  be,  as  all  can  see, 

Turned  on  her  other  side, 

Else  she  may  never  ride 

Proudly  again  on  Mexico. 

'Twas  sometime  last  year,  nearer  May, 

That  I,  with  father,  sailed  away 

Down  to  Havana  and  the  coast, 

Where  reefs  are  seen,  and  waters  boast 

That  they  can  founder  any  boat 

That  tries  upon  their  waves  to  float. 

There  this  same/W  did  calmly  sail, 

Not  heeding  half  the  ocean's  rail, 

But  sped  and  took  us  to  the  shore 

We  thought  we'd  surely  see  no  more." 

Now  made  we  bold 

When  this  was  told 

To  pull  one  mighty  pull  together, 

Despite  the  hot  and  sunny  weather. 
"Ye  ho!  "  cried  Dexter,  as  he  drew; 
"  Ye  ho!"  cried  all  the  jolly  crew, 

So  with  the  music  and  the  muscle, 

With  all  the  groans  and  sweat  and  tussle, 

Out  came  the  JPef,  showing  where  she 

Had  braved  so  well  the  angry  sea. 

At  length  we  came  to  go, 

As  the  red  sun  sank  low, 

And  sent  its  rays  up  from  the  west 

Where  it  was  sinking  down  to  rest, 

For  the  earth  was  stained  with  a  crimson  light; 

All  the  sky  was  scarlet  and  red  and  pink, 

And  the  clouds  were  stranger  than  one  can  think, 


FLO  RI  DIANA.  149 

While  deepening  colors  threw  below  a  shade, 

Like  beauty  that  appears  as  pictures  fade. 

Large  blossoms  scarcely  waved  along  the  shore, 

Which  shook  with  laughter  just  awhile  before, 

And  lilies  that  were  pure  and  white, 

Now  flushed  with  pleasure  and  delight; 

And  what  long  shadows  fell  behind  the  palms ! 

Soon  came  we  'neath  a  cloud  of  green 

Which  faced  the  sky  with  royal  mien; 

Odors  rich,  sweet  and  strong, 

Fell  o'er  us  as  we  moved  along; 

The  jasmine  with  its  pleasant  smell, 

Where  bees  and  sunshine  love  to  swell, 

And  oleanders  that  will  give 

Beauty  and  fragrance  while  they  live; 

Softly  we  moved,  and  then»we  sang, 

First  low 

And  slow, 

Till  all  along 

Music  was  echoed  loud  and  strong. 

Sunday  came  on,  a  day  of  rest, 
Worthy  to  bear  the  name  of  blest, 
And,  in  the  eve,  we  took  our  way, 
Some  few,  out  toward  the  setting  day, 
Until  we  reached  the  humble  church 
That  stood  upon  a  rising  perch 
Of  sand,  higher  than  all  the  rest, 
Clustered  about,  like  to  a  nest, 
With  leaves  and  bushes  overgrown, 
And  grasses  which  hda  long  been  sownj 


150  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Rough,  tumble  steps  led  to  a  door 

That  opened  out  upon  the  floor, 

And  benches  lay  about, 

Fashioned  too  rude  and  stout 

To  seat  those  used  to  easy-chairs. 

A  pulpit  stretched  from  end  to  end, 

And  with  the  benches  seemed  to  blend 

In  trying  to  be  rough  and  plain, 

Having  no  polish,  nor  a  stain. 

A  Bible  soiled,  but  holy  still, 

Lay,  waiting,  on  the  window  sill, 

While  a  few  dusky  people  sat 

Down  on  a  round  and  braided  mat. 

Then  others  came,  when  soon  along 

Sat  all  about  a  mighty  throng, — 

All  shades  of  black  or  dusky  hue, 

Some  light,  but  most  to  Ebon  true. 

Something  is  moving  through  the  crowd, 

And  now,  in  accents  rich  and  loud, 

A  voice  read  out:  "Please  sing  dis  hymn, 

An'  cry  it  wid  a  pow'ful  vim." 

And  so  a  hundred  negroes  sang 

And  shouted,  as  the  old  church  rang  : 

"Shout,  oh!  shout  de  glory  song, 
Doan  delay  but  come  along, 
Fer  de  day  am  'proachin'  fas' 
When  dis  earf  will  hab  to  pass 
In  one  drefful,  fiery  mass*. 

"An'  de  moon  will  tu'n  to  blood, 
An'  de  brooklet  make  a  flood 


FLORIDIANA.  1 5 1 


Swoopin'  'bout  us  like  de  sea, 
An'  den,  sinnah,  you  an'  me, 
Say,  oh,  whar,  say  whar'll  we  be? 

"  Oh  !  dis  yere  will  be  de  day 
Fer  de  bad  to  fall  away, 
An'  de  just  will  stan'  apart, 
Waitin'  de  comman'  to  start 
Whar  we  goes  to  nebber  part. 

"  Glory,  glory !  den  we'll  sing 
All  de  day, 

An'  de  wicked,  lazy  lout 
Dat  can  hardly  walk  about, 
To  de  debbil  mus'  he  go 
Mighty  quick." 

After  the  hymn, 
When  twilight  dim 
Took  to  racing 

In  the  form  of  shadows  weird, 
Which  increased  the  live  oak's  beard, 
The  lamps  were  lighted, 
And  the  benighted 

Heard  loud  the  text,  "Oh,  mine  is  dine ;" 
"  Mine  is  dine  ! "  said  the  preacher, 
The  tall  black  teacher, 
Who  in  his  pulpit  stood 
To  give  his  people  food; 
Who  ever  told  them  not  to  steal, 
But  always  for  their  neighbors  feel, 
If  ne'er  for  melons. 
"An'  mine  is  dine,"  he  said, 


152  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"As  you  hab  often  read, 
Oh!  mine  is  dine,  dear  bredderen, 
Oh !  dine,  ah !  am  mine,  dear  sisteren. 
David,  de  son,  de  king, 
He  knows  'bout  eberyting; 
An'  yet  he  sin,  dat  man, 
An'  say  de  Lord  do  fan 
De  'niquity  ob  mine  enemy. 
Oh,  ah,  oh,  ah,  ah,  oh ! 
De  Lord  hab  tol'  us  so." 
And  so  the  preacher  told, 
Going  from  hot  to  cold 
And  cold  to  hot, 
Trying  to  say  what  he  could  not, 
Which  same  thing  happens  oft  to  others 
Who  preach  in  churches,  O  my  brothers ! 
Who  wander  from  their  texts  so  far  away 
They  land  at  last  into  some  boggy  bay. 
They  tell  of  Heaven,  and  how  we  all  may  win  it, 
And  preach  upon  it  till  there's  nothing  in  it, 
With  Hebrew  words,  with  dialects  of  Greek, 
With  every  language  but  the  one  we  speak, 
And  though  they  differ,  being  black  or  white, 
They  stand  on  common  ground  in  needing  light 

CANTO  II. 


[Non  satis  vivere,  debemus  bene  vivere,'} 

Monday  morning  bright  and  early, 
Without  clouds  and  no  one  surly, 
We  did  make  and  leave  our  couches, 


FLORIDIANA.  153 

Get  our  guns  and  hunting  pouches, 

Fishing  tackle  and  provisions, 

Making  manifold  divisions, 

For  convenience  and  for  pleasure, 

In  the  coming  days  of  leisure. 

Bags  full  of  bread, 

Which  some  had  said 

Would  more  than  feed 

Ten  times  our  need, 

Went  off  on  Sambo's  shoulders 

Like  wondrous  boulders, 

And  disappeared  behind  the  trees, 

Much  as  the  fitful  morning  breeze. 

Into  the  Pet  they  went, 

While  more  were  sent, 

Blankets  and  sheets, 

Fruits,  wines,  and  meats, 

Till  Tampa  stared  in  wild  amaze, 

And  lengthened  out  her  wondering  gaze. 

Into  a  store  we  took  our  way, 

About  the  eighth  hour  of  the  day, 

And  there  bought  milk  and  flour, 

And  quantities  of  fruit  that's  sour, 

Called  grape  fruit,  and  resembling  much 

Lemons,  limes,  oranges,  and  such; 

In  other  words,  as  learned  Southrons  say, 

Belonging  to  the  citrus  family. 

Coffee  we  bought, 

Because  we  thought 

That  it  might  be,  out  on  the  sea, 

Better  than  tea, 

V       OF  THE      ' 

UNIVERSITY 


154  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY 

Though  of  the  latter  we  did  take 

Enough  for  several  times  to  make 

A  good  strong  cup, 

That  would  steam  up, 

And  make  us  taste  it  suddenly. 

At  last  the  boat  was  full, 

When  one  did  pull 

Small,  trembling  ropes, 

Like  certain  hopes 

Soon  followed  by 

Free  open  sails  and  pleasant  sky. 

Now  was  it  time  to  go,  when  a  slight  blow 

Helped  us  to  speed  away, 

Out  to  the  restless,  moving  bay. 

And  each  had  bought,  before  he  left  the  shore, 

A  wide  sombrero  in  some  Tampa  store, 

So  very  wide  the  eye  grew  dim 

Ere  it  had  gazed  across  the  brim. 

Hilsboro'  left  we  in  the  rear, 

As  a  small  island  that  was  near 

Stretched  its  green  body  into  view, 

And  glistened  in  the  morning  dew. 

A  gentle  breath  touched  all  the  sea, 

And  rippled  o'er  its  waters  free, 

While  from  above  the  sunny  light 

Gladdened  it  into  liquid  bright. 

As  on  the  surface  fast  we  glide 

One  looked  from  off  our  small  ship's  side, 

Wondering  no  doubt  how  deep  and  blue 

Were  the  soft  waves  we  journeyed  through 

He  wore  a  wide  and  Southern  hat, 


FLORIDIANA.  155 


Covering  his  person  fair  and  fat ; 

Eyes  that  were  large  and  wondrous  mild ; 

Eyes  which  good-natured  ere  beguiled 

Were  his;  while  a  full  beard, 

Light  floating  to  his  waist,  now  neared 

As  he  bent  forward  and  beneath 

His  high-crowned,  wide  Panama  wreath. 

Slightly  stooped  were  his  shoulders  too, 

While  dark  brown  locks  across  them  woo 

The  constant,  cooling  breeze 

Which  stirred  them,  as  it  did  the  trees. 

A  suit  of  dark  he  wore 

Which  often  he  had  worn  before, 

And  from  his  hat  there  swung  about 

A  hempen  cord  of  texture  stout, 

To  keep  it  safe  from  falling  out. 

His  pockets  all  were  crowded  full, 

From  household  scrap  to  Popish  bull, 

With  papers  by  the  dozen, 

Concerning  priest  and  king  and  cousin; 

Concerning  house  and  home  and  cattle, 

Or  how  to  shake  a  baby's  rattle, 

All  done  in  tidy  little  scrolls, 

And  fastened  up  in  tissue  rolls. 

Much  was  there  too  about  gastrology, 

Not  unto  us  a  mere  mythology, 

But  a  real  truth  we  felt  each  day, 

As  hunger  proved  us,  on  the  way. 

This  was  our  right-hand  man, 

Who  held  the  frying-pan, 

Named  for  a  season  Dexter, 


156  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY, 

For  though  he  didn't  come  from  Exter, 

He  loved  the  sea, 

And  reveled  in  hydrography. 

Ohio  was  his  native  State, 

Where  many  others  who  are  great 

By  chance  were,  born, 

And  now  adorn 

That  fair  State's  history. 

It  is  a  mystery 

Why  Dexter  did  not  in  his  State  remain, 

And  to  the  presidential  chair  attain, 

But  fate  had  willed  it  otherwise — 

She  has  her  way  beneath  the  skies— 

And  soon  our  hero  went  to  school, 

There  to  learn  o'er  the  rigid  rule 

Of  stern  theology. 

But  when  the  noise  of  war  broke  out, 

Brave  Dexter  followed  in  the  route; 

Through  all  the  war  he  fought,  until 

The  cannon's  roar  and  smoke  were  still, 

When  he  came  back 

With  a  haversack, 

And  a  captain's  legacy. 

Busy  upon  a  piece  of  bread 

Sat  he  who  always  sank  the  lead; 

Brown  as  a  nut  with  tropic  tan 

Was  he,  the  Texas  laboring  man, 

With  common  sense,  but  hidden  deep, 

And  almost  always  fast  asleep, 

So  unto  strangers  it  did  not  appear, 


FLORIDIANA.  157 

But  ever  dawdled  in  the  rear. 

Though  kind  of  heart,  his  form  was  coarse, 

He  slowly  spoke  in  accent  hoarse, 

And  drawled  his  words  so  very  long 

They  ended  in  a  dismal  song. 

Here  sat  he  by  an  open  box, 

And  watched  it  like  a  wily  fox 

Watches  his  game; 

'Twas  a  sesame 

That  gave  him  privilege  to  eat 

Another  piece  of  tempting  meat. 

Tabler  was  this,  or  Fiddle-diddle, 

Or  both,  each  was  a  riddle, 

Than  try  to  guess  'twere  better  far 

To  leave  one's  fortune  to  a  star. 

Quite  tall  he  was,  his  legs  were  short, 

He  used  them  as  a  last  resort, 

As  though  the  will  that  moved  the  rest 

Had  left  them,  at  their  own  request, 

To  follow  when  they  felt  inclined, 

Or,  if  they  wished,  to  stay  behind. 

This  gave  them  then  a  paddling  gait 

That  often  made  their  owner  late. 

Now  Tabler's  hands  were  large  and  rough, 

His  arms  were  strong,  his  sinews  tough ; 

His  neck  was  surely  long  enough. 

His  head  a  shock  of  hair  did  own 

That  looked  as  if  some  wind  had  blown 

It  in  a  pyramid; 

But  this  was  only  his  wife's  style 

Of  combing  it,  well  fixed  with  "ile," 


158  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

A  somber,  solemn,  cranial  pile, 
On  which  a  hat  did  calmly  rest, 
Obedient  to  its  lord's  behest. 

"  Wai,"  and  he  swallowed  with  a  gulp, 
A  wondrous  piece  of  orange  pulp, 

"  I  reckon  this  yere  sea  is  calm, 
And  runs  as  easy  as  a  psalm. 
We're  movin'  far  out- on  the  bay, 
It  will  not  take  us  half  a  day 
Before  our  boat  will  almost  be 
Touching  upon  the  old  Long  Quay, 
That's  quite  a  distance  out  at  sea." 
At  this  remark  our  little  bark 
Rushed  through  the  water  faster  still, 
And  set  to  work  with  earnest  will. 
Contented  Tabler,  with  one  wayward  eye, 
Looked  up  into  the  cloudless  sky, 
But^vith  the  other  gazed  not  there, 
For  his  two  eyes  were  not  a  pair ; 
One,  ever  faithful  to  his  Texas  home, 
Looked  back,  wherever  he  might  roam. 

The  captain's  name  was  Benjamin, 

A  crafty  lad  was  he ; 

He  owned  the  boat,  and  manned  it  well; 

He  understood  the  sea. 

His  form  was  good,  his  face  was  smooth, 

His  moustache  long  and  red. 

He  said 

He  came  from  Nebraska, 

Where  he  was  born  and  bred, 


FLORIDIANA.  1 59 

And  told  of  startling  deeds  in  which 

He  figured  as  the  head. 

His  voice  was  pleasing  to  the  ear, 

And  if  he  would  he  might 

Speak  either  like  a  scientist, 

Or  as  a  trifler  light. 

So  Benjamin  would  tell  us  all, 

If  good  or  bad  or  great  or  small, 

About  the  land,  the  sea,  the  sky, 

Or  any  fish  we  might  descry; 

About  the  winds,  or  how  to  sail; 

About  the  gull,  or  water  rail; 

Here  point  to  some  outlying  isle, 

Or  there  to  many  a  coral  pile, 

And  thus  our  leisure  hours  beguile. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  said  a  mellow  voice, 
It  was  the  helmsman — one  by  choice — 
Who,  though  our  equal  partner  in  the  yachting  trip, 
Was  loth  to  let  such  an  opportunity  slip 
As  he  had  to  learn  the  ways  of  a  ship. 
So  the  captain  he 
For  the  time  made  free, 
To  use  him  as  his  own  guarantee. 
Blue  were  his  eyes,  and  his  face  was  fair, 
Wrhile  into  his  heart  not  even  a  care 
Had  discovered  the  way  up  its  golden  stair. 
Not  a  wrinkle  and  not  a  line 
On  his  face;  it  was  soft  and  fine, 
Expressing  its  workmanship  divine. 
He  came  from  a  land  where  frost  and  snow 


160  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Fall  from  the  clouds  to  the  earth  below, 

And  cover  it  all  in  a  robe  of  white, 

With  glittering  diamonds  small  and  bright; 

Where  the  birch  and  maple  in  gladness  grow, 

Where  all  the  Canada  thistles  blow; 

But  his  heart  was  as  warm  as  a  tropic  sun 

When  its  daily  journey  is  not  half  done; 

Of  malice  or  hatred  his  heart  had  none. 

But  why  did  he  not  remain 

In  his  home  so  far  away? 

Why  did  he  seek  the  main 

To  ride  through  its  spray? 

This  is  what  we  said,  but  his  head 

He  shook  in  a  doubtful  way, 

Meaning — you  all  shall  know 

Why  I  came,  another  day. 

I  believe  in  the  rule  of  a  president, 

And  not  in  the  reign  of  a  king: 

In  my  country  they  all  believe 

Just  the  other  thing. 

Last  but  not  least  came  Pennirnan, 

Who  sat  not  far  away, 

In  a  study  brown,  and  his  form  was  held 

In  a  suit  of  iron  gray. 

He  looked  ever  ready  in  rnood  and  mien 

For  some  wild  affray. 

Into  the  war  he  had  been,  like  a  man,  to  fight; 

Out  of  it  all  he  came  with  wounds  that  were  slight, 

But  it  left  on  his  cheek  an  impress  deep, 

Coming  and  going  like  shepherdless  sheep. 


FLORIDIANA.  161 

In  his  every  act 

We  could  see  the  fact, 

For  he  seemed  to  be  fighting  over  again, 

Or  planning  for  life  a  silent  campaign; 

And  over  his  spirits  there  seemed  to  fall 

Sometimes  a  deep  cloud  like  a  funeral  pall, 

But  often  the  sun  would  shine  through  it  all. 

He  was  a  Yankee,  and  believed 

The  Constitution  through, 

And  on  his  heart  its  very  laws 

In  living  letters  grew; 

And  if  you  lauded  Uncle  Sam 

He  was  at  once  with  you. 

A  traveler  was  he  o'er  the  globe, 

A  traveler  whom  we  could  not  probe; 

No  matter  what  we  asked  or  told 

He  never  would  himself  unfold. 

And  more  than  this  he  would  not  tell: 

In  Boston,  where  he  used  to  dwell, 

He  left  his  wife — a  pretty  belle — 

Because  she  always  dressed  too  well. 

Down  into  the  great  wide  sea 
The  red  sun  sank  to  rest, 
Sending  its  soft  light  far  and  free, 
Tinging  the  wave  to  its'  very  crest; 
This  was  the  sun's  farewell,  for  he 
Was  taking  our  daylight  into  the  West. 
And  the  shades  of  night, 
In  ecstatic  delight, 
Gathered  upon  the  silent  shore, 
ii 


1 62  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

To  worship  their  sweet  goddess  and  adore. 

Deeper  and  darker  the  waters  grew, 

For  before  us  and  o'er  us 

The  curtains  of  night 

Had  hidden  the  sun  and  shut  out  its  light. 
"Whar  are  we  now?"  said  Tabler, 

As  he  rubbed  his  willful  eye, 
•''My  'pinion  is  we're  movin' 

Jes'  as  fast  as  we  can  fly, 

And  I  'speck  we're  goin'  outwards 

Like  a  Neptune  on  the  sea; 

Though  I'm  not  afraid  of  water, 

I  think  now  perhaps  we'd  orter 

Betake  ourselv.es  to  land, 

But  whar  and  how  to  git  thar 

I  do  rfot  understand. 

Accordin'  to  my  own  idee 

I  reckon  that  it's  time  for  tea, 

For  one  poor  meal  a  day  can't  keep 

A  man  alive  unless  he's  sleep." 
«  All  right,  then,  general,"  cried  the  captain  quick, 
"You  are  a  daisy  and  a  brick; 

Steady  the  helm; 

Just  see  that  all  is  right, 

And  I  will  see  you  into  port  before  the  moon  is  bright." 
"Aye,  aye,  sir,  your  commands  I  hear, 

Just  shift  the  sails  and  I  will  steer." 

So  in  we  came  between  two  islands  dark, 

Which  stood  like  guards  on  either  side  our  bark, 

While  through  the  trees  we  caught  the  shimmering  light 

Of  a  now  rising  moon  so  pale  and  white. 


FLORIDIANA.  163 

Higher  and  higher  fair  Luna  pushed  her  way 
Into  the  gladdened  sky; 
Larger  and  larger  grew  the  ray, 
Till  by  and  by 

It  covered  all  the  heaven  with  light — 
And  such,  in  Florida,  is  night. 
Up  to  the  very  shore  we  took  our  Pet, 
And  landed  without  getting  wet. 
Meanwhile  the  captain  fixed  the  sails, 
Dipped  out  the  water  with  the  pails, 
Spread  up  the  canopy — a  sheet, 
And  made  it  look  so  nice  and  neat, 
A  very  little  home  complete. 
"Out  with  provisions,  we  shall  have  a  fire 
That  will  with  heartiness  inspire 
Us  all  and  each  to  one  desire, 
And  this  to  make  a  fragrant  cup 
Of  coffee  strong,  and  drink  it  up." 
One  took  some  boxes  from  the  bark, 
Another  kindled  with  a  spark 
Upon  the  sand,  a  cheery  fire, 
That  soon  created  havoc  dire 
Among  the  branches  that  were  brought, 
Of  mangrove  roots  and  gnarled  oak  knot, 
With  which  the  shore  was  strewn  about — 
An  army  for  the  sea  to  rout. 
Upon  the  hard  white  beach  we  sat; 
No  Persian  prince  had  better  mat 
In  all  his  palace  than  was  that. 
Now  in  the  frying-pan  there  went     • 
Some  savory  meat,  of  which  the  scent 


1 64  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

And  kindly  flavor  almost  made 

It  very  subject  to  a  raid. 

"Have  patience,  Tabler,  do  not  fret; 

The  supper  is  not  ready  yet; 

It  will  be,  soon  as  we  can  get 

The  bacon  fried,  the  coffee  boiled, 

The  wild  meat  done  and  nicely  broiled. 

We're  getting  things  upon  the  table, 

And  just  the  minute  we  are  able 

We  shall  sit  down  to  such  a  feast 

As  ne'er  was  served  to  man  or  beast." 

So  spake  the  cook;  the  kettle  in  assent 

Hummed  o'er  that  song  that  makes  all  men  content. 

And  seemed  in  making  good  cheer  all  intent. 

"This  makes  me  think,"  said  Penniman, 
As  he  stirred  up  the  frying-pan, 
That  sputtered  loud  as  such  things  can, 

"This  makes  me  think  of  islands  of  the  sea, 
Such  islands  as,  for  instance,  Hawaii, 
Where,  covered  with  tall  palms  as  here  there  be, 
The  natives  do,  some  tranquil  night, 
Disport  themselves  in  rare  delight, 
Making,  as  we  have  made,  a  fire  upon  the  beach, 
But  leaving,  as  we  shall  not  leave,  some  bones  to  bleach- 
At  any  rate  I  hope  we  may  not  leave  our  own, 
Or  any  which  the  ghost  of  man  could  own." 

Round  the  fire  now  all  were  seated, 
Each  one  served  and  no  one  cheated; 
First  came  bread  and  then  came  butter, 
Ham  and  eggs — with  noisy  splutter — 


FLORIDIANA.  165 

Hard-tack  biscuits  soaked  in  water; 

A  broiled  goose,  'twas  Dexter  shot  her 

With  his  little  short  revolver. 

In  the  coffee  found  we  pleasure, 

And  we  drank  our  cup's  full  measure; 

Thus  we  drank  in  days  of  leisure. 

Then  the  dishes  cleared  away, 

By  the  fire  we  snugly  lay, 

Planning  for  another  day. 

Into  the  air  bright  sparks  were  kindled, 

Upward  they  went  until  they  dwindled, 

Dwindled,  dwindled,  dwindled,  and  dwindled, 

Falling  at  last  to  earth  in  a  cinder, 

Only  a  blackened,  crisped-up  tinder. 

How  like  some  men,  and  we  thought  as  we  wondered, 

Who,  starting  right,  have  afterwards  blundered, 

And  fallen  to  earth  as  anathemas  thundered, 

Or  like  some  others  who  in  honor  have  started, 

Meeting  with  insult  from  which  they  have  smarted, 

Lost  all  their  courage — while  glory  departed. 

THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY. 

"Listen,  my  comrades,  while  I  tell," 

Cried  Benjamin,  our  captain  gay, 
"And  give  attention,  if  your  thoughts 

Are  not  employed  another  way. 

"  For  as  you  sit  around  the  fire, 

And  look  each  other  in  the  face, 
Thinking  about  the  homes  you  left, 

Your  wondrous  change  of  scene  and  place, 


1 66  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"It  may  be  well  to  think  upon 

Things  that  transpired  long  years  ago, 
From  the  far  North,  and  up  the  coast, 
Down  to  the  Everglades  below. 

"Through  all  the  land  blood-guilty  Spain, 

Discovering  Florida,  had  made, 
Upon  the  tribes  who  owned  it  all, 
Many  a  wrong  and  shameful  raid. 

"Boasting  of  a  religion  which, 

They  held,  from  God  and  truth  came  down. 
They  with  it  hid  their  lawless  deeds, 
And  feared  not  either  curse  or  frown. 

"  Well  known  to  history  and  the  world 

Are  all  the  wicked  acts  of  Spain, 
And  the  revenge  of  angry  wrath 

Which  quickly  followed  in  their  train. 

"  If  noble  Ponce  de  Leon  found 

The  holy  waters  that  he  sought, 
His  followers,  in  the  after  years, 

The  bitter  streams  of  Marah  brought. 

"They  lifted  high  their  standard  here, 

Not  asking  even  right  to  come, 
And  treated  all  the  wondering  tribes 
As  heartless  creatures,  blind  and  dumb. 

"While  carnage  reigned,  and  blood  was  shed 

Out  to  this  islet  lone,  there  came 
A  solitary  monk,  who  sought 

The  holy  joy  of  peace — not  fame. 


FLORIDIANA.  167 

"It  was  a  maiden,  and  her  form 

Was  wrapped  in  deep  and  safe  disguise; 
Her  locks,  though  short,  were  dark  and  soft, 
And  heaven's  blue  shone  in^her  eyes. 

"  Fame  had  she  left  on  that  far  shore 

To  which  she  never  would  return ; 

In  her  white  bosom,  deep,  there  lay 

The  spark  of  what  had  ceased  to  burn, — 

"A  mighty  love  that  once  had  filled 

The  very  soul  of  her  who  now 
Was  wearing,  with  a  patient  grace, 
Its  stinging  thorns  upon  her  brow. 

"  Valencia  and  Alcoy, 

Castellon  of  the  mighty  plain — 
To  all  she  bade  a  sad  adieu 

And  vowed  she  ne'er  would  see  again. 

"  She  entered  in  her  forest  home, 

With  priestly  gown  and  mournful  hood; 
No  one  was  there  to  help  her  build 
Her  house  of  thatch  and  rustic  wood. 

"For  food  she  caught  the  rabbit  shy, 

And  took  the  tender  cabbage  palm; 
But  many  hours  she  whiled  away 
In  penance  and  in  prayerful  psalm. 

"The  years  sped  by,  but  still  this  monk 

E'er  faithful  to  her  island  was ; 
In  other  lands  new  kings  were  made, 
And  ruled  with  ever-changing  laws. 


1 68  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"Here  she  became  a  friend  to  all, 

The  Indians  flocked  from  far  around 
To  ask  for  medicine,  and  have 

Their  wounds  and  painful  lesions  bound. 

"The  pale-face  daughter,  was  she  called, 
Whom  the  Great  Spirit  loved  so  well, 
But  whence  she  came  or  how  she  lived 
Not  e'en  the  Indian  could  tell. 

"She  gave  the  islands  near  her  own 

The  very  names  this  day  they  bear, 
And  drew  upon  a  parchment  white, 
In  careful  writing,  fine  and  fair, 

"A  map  of  her  environs  each, 

With  islets  dotted  here  and  there, 

Their  rivers  and  their  lakes  and  bays, 
Put  down  with  all  a  woman's  care. 

"Just  north  of  us  is  Egmont's  Key, 

Covered  with  mangrove  trees  and  palm; 
There  Esperitu  Santo,  where 
The  sailors  find  it  ever  calm. 

"  She  named  sweet  Sara  Sota  Bay, 

Whose  waters  wash  so  many  isles, 
And  all  the  narrow  straits  where  pass 
The  rushing  waters  in  their  wiles. 

'"Tis  said  she  spoke  the  Indian  tongues, 

And  taught  the  tribes  deep  in  the  Word; 
While  Christian  peace  came  down  to  those 
Who  listened  and  who  gladly  heard. 


FLORIDIANA.  169 

<£And  thus  her  influence  did  spread 

Until  it  reached  o'er  all  the  land, 
Till  Tlathopopkahatchee  came 

To  tribute  pay  with  his  own  hand. 

"  Name  all  your  lakes,  the  priestess  said, 

After  your  good  men  as  they  die, 
So  they  may  have  a  record  here, 
As  well  as  records  up  on  high. 

"And  so  the  chief  went  gladly  back 

And  named  his  own  possessions  all. 
The  names  of  which  we  now  may  know 
If  yet  we  may  not  each  recall. 

"  Thonolosassa,  for  a  lake; 

With  la  Koochee,  Hickpochee; 
Choconicla,  Ocklawaha 
And  old  Olia  kon'konhee. 

"Long  after,  when  the  chief  returned, 
The  maid  was  on  the  isle  no  more; 
Silence  was  round — the  hamlet  stood 
Deep  hid  with  vines  and  clustered  o'er. 

"  Loud  called  the  chief,  no  answer  came, 

The  forest  echoed  back  the  sound, 
While  its  reverberations  rolled 

On  through  the  islands  far  around. 

"  As  Tlathopopkahatchee  took 

His  homeward  way,  by  chance  he  found, 
Well  hidden  under  mossy  oaks 

In  the  deep  wood,  a  lonely  mound ; 


i/o  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"  And,  bending  o'er  the  wooden  slab, 

He  read  the  name  of  her  who  taught 
Him  how  to  read;  who  left  those  truths 
Nor  gold  nor  treasure  could  have  bought. 

"  Her  name  was  Anna  Maria, 

The  same  this  pleasant  island  bears; 
Her  grave  is  here,  not  far  away; 
Let  him  disturb  her  rest  who  dares. 

"  From  Nassau  to  Monroe  and  Bade, 

Where'er  an  Indian  you  see, 
Speak  only  this  poor  maiden's  name, 
And  he  will  to  you  friendly  be. 

"  Her  history  all  is  known  to  them, 

Unknown  to  us.     Her  plighted  love 
Is  oft  the  theme  for  Indian  tales, 

And,  speaking,  they  will  point  above. 

"Tis  growing  late,  you  must  not  wait; 
I've  told  you  quite  enough  to-night, 
And  though  the  moon  is  shining  bright, 
She  may  before  long  take  her  flight, 
And  leave  us  all  in  such  a  plight, 
Out  of  the  boat  without  a  light." 

"A  word  before  we  go," 
Said  Penniman  the  wise, 

"Where  shall  we  travel  to  when  next 
The  sun  does  o'er  our  visage  rise?" 

'  To-morrow  of  to-morrow  will 
Take  the  best  care  I  think; 
Let  Nature  for  itself  look  out, 


FLORIDIANA.  171 

So  said  the  bobolink," 

And  so  said  Tabler,  with  a  sleepy  bow 

As  wisely  as  his  tongue  knew  how. 

Dexter  lay  stretched  out  on  the  sand, 

His  head  upon  a  log, 

An  easy  pillow,  one  by  which 

The  rest  were  kept  agog, 

To  know  if  all  this  mist  of  sleep 

Were  nothing  but  a  fog. 

Often  the  eyes  of  one  would  blink, 

And  sometimes  on  his  breast  would  sink 

His  weary  head, 

While  everybody  thought  'twas  time 

For  all  to  go  to  bed. 

So  now  into  our  boat  we  went, 
With  hearts  brimful  of  sweet  content, 
While  under  the  fair  firmament 
The  blankets  were  spread, 
Our  prayers  were  all  said, 
We  jumped  into  bed 
And  covered  our  head. 

VOICES. 

Good-night,  good-night, 

Sweet  people  all, 

The  darkness  deep  begins  to  fall; 

Sleep  fast  and  do  not  wake  till  morn, 

When  Gabriel  blows  his  merry  horn, 

And  daylight  shall  again  be  born. 

Fairies  then  again  shall  flee 


i/2  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Back  into  the  moving  sea. 

Sleep  on  then  all  till  morning  light, 

Good-night,  good-night,  good-night,  good-night. 

CANTO  III. 


The  night  had  gone, 
A  rising  dawn 

Fell  softly  over  land  and  sea; 
While  one  awoke, 
And  silence  broke 
By  calling  out  vehemently: 
"  Wake  up !  wake  up !  the  sun  is  high, 
We  must  be  moving  by  and  by, 
And  ere  we  sail  out  from  the  shore, 
We  should  our  beauteous  isle  explore." 
Breakfast  well  over,  down  a  path 
Now  covered  with  an  aftermath, 
We  slowly  moved  with  careful  eye 
So  game  or  relics  we  should  spy, 
Through  varied  woods  of  oak  and  balm, 
Of  bay  tree  and  of  cabbage  palm, 
As  over  all  a  floor  of  green  was  spread, 
On  which  might  fairy  princes  tread 
WThen  they  held  merry  matins  overhead. 
Across  the  path  many  a  tree  clasped  hands, 
Vowing  eternal  friendship;  while  with  bands 
Of  bamboo  and  of  grape  their  oath's  demands 
Sacred  were  made. 
More  narrow  grew  the  winding  way, 
And  'neath  the  tangled  vines  that  lay 


FLORIDIANA.  173 


At  its  far  end  stretched  all  around, 
Anna  Maria's  grave  we  found. 
The  wooden  slab  was  there  no  more, 
A  simple  cross  of  oak  instead, 
While  underneath  her  name  was  read — 
And  not  a  single  word  we  said.  " 
Tabler  did  now  the  silence  break, 
And  from  his  reverie  awake; 
As  tears  stood  in  one  pensive  eye, 
He  lifted  up  his  head  on  high 
To  show  the  other  was  not  dry. 
With  great  surprise,  we  all  began 
To  wonder  how  our  Texas -man 
Had  now  discovered  cause  for  grief, 
And  called  these  tears  to  his  relief. 
'Waal,"  said  he  as  he  wiped  his  eyes 
And  brushed  his  bedimmed  vision  clear, 
'  I  will  declar',  I  shed  a  tear, 
Which  doesn't  happen  onc't  a  year, 
And  why  it  has  don't  now  appear. 
This  ain't  no  time  to  make  excuse, 
And  'twouldn't  be  no  kind  of  use, 
For  you  can  see  it  aint  my  style 
To  be  a  cryin'  like  a  chile. 
For  when  I  lets  my  feelin's  out, 
'Tis  cause  they're  pushed  by  suthin'  stout, 
That  won't  recede  or  turn  about; 
Jes'  as  them  waves  swells  on  the  sea, 
And  rush  and  heave  toward  you  and  me; 
Jes'  as  the  boomin'  hurricane 
Flies  swoopin'  o'er  the  level  plain; 


i;4  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Jes'  as  clouds  comes  into  the  sky 
And  brings  the  rain-drops,  by  and  by; 
Jes'  so  them  ere  tears  starts  to  fall, 
And  why  I  cannot  tell  at  all. 
I  specks  there's  suthin'  moves  the  whole, 
That  makes  the  water  toss  and  roll, 
That  tells  the  wind  blow  strong  and  loud, 
And  presses  rain-drops  from  the  cloud. 
So  then  my  fren's  there  suthin'  here 
That  axed  my  fountain  for  a  tear." 

"I'm  glad  your  fountain  is  not  dry," 
Said  Penniman,  in  slow  reply, 

"  For  such  things  empty  often  are 
In  men  who  travel  long  and  far, 
Especially  if  they  go  West 
And  in  dry  land  their  means  invest. 
They  find  then,  but,  alas!  too  late, 
They  need  their  tears  to  irrigate; 

,  No  other  water  far  or  near 
Falls  on  their  acres — save  a- tear. 
Oft  too  their  wives  will  help  to  shed- 
Poor  women — from  an  aching  head, 
Tears — till  their  eyes  are  swollen  red. 
'Tis  a  good  sign,  my  friend,  that  you 
Have  well  preserved  some  youthful  dew, 
For  had  you  wept  o'er  Texas  land 
And  watered  Matagorda  sand, 
Your  springing  well,  with  hollow  sound, 
Would  at  your  earnest  call  resound." 

"Thanks,  mister,  you  are  very  kind; 
I'll  tell  you,  if  you  do  not  mind, 


FLORIDIANA.  175 

That  not  a  drop  is  left  behind. 
My  Texas  ranch  wan't  worth  a  tear, 
If  it  did  cost  me  mighty  dear — 
But  now  I  specks  we  better  steer." 
Nearly  the  day  we  spent — a  long,  bright  day, 
Whose  gleams  were  moving  to  the  west  away; 
Much  had  we  seen  and  gathered  from  the  isle, 
Much  to  remember  and  our  thoughts  beguile, 
When,  in  the  after  years — some  future  time — 
We  came  in  memory  to  this  sunny  clime. 
But  shadows,  like  grim  ghosts  on  hands  and  knees, 
Crept  hovering  ever  toward  the  mossy  trees,  . 
Stole  up  their  trunks,  and,  in  a  spreading  cloud, 
Hung  down  a  floating  drapery  of  shroud. 
Swift  from  the  flowers,  where  all  day  long  they  fed, 
The  humming  bees  in  anxious  hurry  sped; 
Night  birds  came  out,  and  owl,  with  hoot  and  screech, 
Hysteric  laughter  made  from  oak  and  beech; 
Like  hay-field  music  was  the  locusts'  song, 
That  sounded  from  the  tree-tops  all  along. 
Then  up  from  the  island  there  suddenly  rose 
A  thunder  of  groanings  and  puffings  and  blows, 
Like  a  very  earthquake  under  one's  nose. 
Ho!  for  the  frogs  their  band  was  now  playing, 
Listen!  the  leader  his  notes  is  conveying. 
Oh!  what  a  concert  we  had  without  paying! 
For  out  of  the  swamp  a  thousand  frogs  sang, 
Both  large  ones  and  small  ones  with  guttural  twang : 
"We're  a  gang,  a  gang,  we're  a  noisy  gang." 
Better  by  far  than  many  a  choir, 
That?  seated  up  somewhere  under  some  spire, 


176  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Are  never  contented  but  looking  up  higher; 

Playing  and  singing  according  to  note; 

Very  much  too  by  rule  and  by  rote-, 

Taking  a  license  and  trying  to  float 

Each  his  own  voice  through  the  atmosphere  thick, 

Bass  sounding  deep  like  the  fall  of  a  brick, 

Tenor  falsetto,  and  fearfully  quick — 

Save  me,  I  pray,  for  the  thought  makes  me  sick. 

Though  every  ray  of  light  had  gone, 
And  night  its  heavy  curtains  drawn, 
We  stood  and  listened  to  each  charming  sound, 
Which  made  sweet  music  through  the  forest  round. 
"But  let  us  go,"  at  length  one  of  us  said, 
"Or  we  may  not  till  morning  find  our  bed. 
The  way  is  long  and  narrow — if  the  isle  be  small, 
'Tis  easy  to  be  lost  here  after  all, 
And  for  a  night  in  this  dark  wilderness 
I  am  not  longing,  I  confess." 
We  started  then  in  a  jolly  trot, 
And  our  feet  flew  fast,  for  we  surely  thought 
Of  a  supperless  night  and  an  empty  cot, 
Of  snakes  and  of  panthers,  of  scorpions  too. 
Oh,  what  in  the  world  should  we  ever  do  ? 
At  last  came  we  to  a  wonderful  end, 
Where  the  path  and  forest  seemed  to  blend, 
And  into  a  mystery  of  limbs  extend. 
There  were  limbs  above  and  limbs  down  below, 
And  limbs  where  they  never  ought  to  grow, 
For  they  crossed  and  twisted  in  close  embrace — 
'Twas  a  very  mysterious  sort  of  place. 
No  matches  had  we  in  our  marvelous  luck; 


FLORIDIANA. 


177 


In  the  jungle  and  darkness  we  firmly  were  stuck; 

And  we  scrambled  through  thicket,  o'er  bramble  and  bush , 

With  effort  determined,  with  pull  and  with  push. 

"Now,  boys,"  cried  out  Dexter,  "in  our  first  camisade 
We  must  keep  well  together,  or  out  of  the  raid 
Someone  will  be  lost,  I  am  now  much  afraid. 
There's  no  telling  what  things  lie  under  these  branches, 
As  ugly  and  fierce  as  the  thirsty  Comanches; 
For  I  think  this  strange  place  with  beasts  is  infested, 
And  the  trees  feel  like  mangroves  long  grown  unmolested.'' 

"  Hello,  thar!  hello,  thar!  I  say  thar  hello!" 
Was  a  sound  that  came  up  from  some  puddle  below; 

"I'm  down  on  my  back  and  fast  in  the  mud," 
So  Tabler  exclaimed  as  he  fell  with  a  thud. 

"We  are  coming,"  we  shouted,  "  but  where  do  you  lie," 
And  the  thought  came  upon  us,  if  Tabler  should  die 
Before  we  his  shape  in  the  darkness  can  spy. 
All  the  while  he  was  sitting  and  scraping  his  clothes, 
For  Tabler  was  quick,  as  this  incident  shows. 

"Are  you  up?"  and  we  laughed,  restraining  our  mirth, 

"Are  you  out  of  the  mud  and  up  from  the  earth?" 
But  in  process  of  cleaning  ne'er  Tabler  would  deign 
To  answer  our  questions — so  asked  we  in  vain. 

Now  came  the  rain-drops  pattering  loud, 
New  offspring  of  some  pregnant  cloud, 
On  shrub  it  fell,  on  leaf,  and  frond, 
Or  back  into  the  jealous  pond, 
Which,  full  and  almost  flowing  o'er, 
Begs  from  the  clouds  for  more  and  more. 
Another  cloud,  in  strange  delight, 

12 


i/8  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Scatters  Jove's  bolts  throughout  the  night, 

Paling  the  heavens  into  fright, 

While  angry  thunder's  pealing  roar 

Rolls  and  resounds  along  the  shore — 

'Twas  a  Florida  storm  and  nothing  more.. 

But  we  saw  through  the  flash  and  the  blaze 

We  had  stumbled  along  to  a  mangrove  maze, 

And  were  lost  in  the  midst  of  its  intricate  ways. 

Up  high  on  a  limb 

Sat  the  form  of  him 

Whose  chances  for  drying  were  wofully  slim; 

And  he  looked  in  the  light 

Like  a  goblin  sprite 

Who  might  be  around  upon  such  a  night. 

Soaking  and  wet, 

So  far  from  the  Pet, 

By  light — all  electric — we  huddled  together, 

A  lot  of  poor  travelers,  deep  under  the  weather; 

And  clustered  about  round  the  trunk  of  a  tree, 

Adown  which  were  running  the  waters  so  free, 

We  shivered  and  wished  we  were  having  our  tea. 

Down  came  the  rain,  and  boom  went  the  thunder, 

Crash  fell  a  tree,  with  its  limbs  split  asunder, 

And  the  swamp  shuddered  in  turn,  and  no  wonder ! 

While  the  storm  roared  and  never  relented, 

Raging  and  groaning  like  mmhood  demented, 

Worse  than  King  Lear  when  he  cried  and  lamented. 

We  slept,  I  suppose, 

For  through  somebody's  nose 

Came  a  story  of  woes. 

Once  or  twice  Dexter  woke, 


FLORIDIANA.  179 

And  in  dream  voice  he  spoke, 

For  he  thought  we  were  sailing 

With  high  winds  prevailing; 

As  he  asked  who  was  bailing 

We  gave  him  a  poke, 

And  so  in  a  trice  thus  ended  the  joke. 

At  last  fair  Aurora,  with  glistening  eye, 

Sant  a  glimmer  of  daybreak  athwart  thro'  the  sky, 

While  we  moved  with  the  shadows  and  out  of  the  marsh? 

Resenting  our  treatment  as  cruel  and  harsh. 

Chilly  and  wet  and  shivering  too, 

Moved  our  sad  and  hungry  crew, 

As  the  mocking  gay  curlew, 

Shrieking  out,  "  How  do  you  do?  " 

High  above  our  bowed  heads,  flew. 

Upon  the  beach  quite  unabashed 

Great  waves  in  restless  motion  dashed, 

And  pushed  and  tumbled  o'er  and  o'er, 

With  noise  incessant  and  with  roar, 

While  in  the  east  the  morning  sun 

Called  for  his  steed,  that  had  begun 

To  fret  and  worry,  wondering  why 

They  were  not  riding  through  the  sky. 

With  royal  mien  fair  Helios  took 

His  chariot  seat,  as  shades  forsook 

His  path,  and  hid  in  some  recess 

Of  sombrous  cloud  or  wilderness; 

Glanced  from  the  wheels  rays  warm  and  bright, 

And  soon  sent  out  the  dark  of  night. 

All  clouds  were  gone,  an  open  sky 


i So  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Stretched  o'er  our  heads  so  grand  and  high — 
We  only  wished  our  clothes  were  dry. 
Wishes  we  knew  would  not  avail, 
Actions  alone  could  aught  prevail, 
And  so  with  pluck  quite  wondrous,  we 
Made  a  good  fire  to  steep  our  tea, 
And  in  one  hour  were  out  at  sea. 
Spent  was  the  anger  of  the  wind, 
And  though  it  blew  its  touch  was  kind; 
It  filled  the  sail  and  gave  us  speed, 
Then  passed  along,  not  giving  heed 
To  what  the  grumbling  ocean  said, 
Though  from  its  sleep  and  quiet  bed, 
The  night  before,*  the  wind  had  pitched 
The  great  sea  out,  almost  bewitched; 
But  soon  it  woke,  and  white  with  rage 
Demanded  fierce  a  war  to  wage, 
Fumed,  roared,  and  called  upon  the  rain 
To  aid  the  cause,  nor  called  in  vain. 
Thus  had  hj  felt  through  all  the  night 
The  wrestlings  of  that  dreadful  fight. 
Bat  now  the  wind  of  a  forgiving  mind 
Had  left  its  wrath  in  some  deep  cave  behind, 
And  touched  the  sea,  now  here  and  there, 
With  quite  a  vain  and  jaunty  air. 
Deep  as  the  ocean  is,  its  wrath  was  deep, 
It  would  not  hear  of  rest  or  sleep, 
But  long  did  a  resentful  spirit  keep. 
Wave  after  wave  our  little  Pet 
With  lightsome  bound  all  eager  met, 
Making  a  feather  of  the  load 


FLORIDIANA.  .     18 1 

It  bore  so  bravely  as  we  rode. 
"Now,  boys,"  said  Benjamin,  "to-day 
I  think  some  fish  will  be  at  play 
Or  work,  it  matters  not  if  we 
Can  only  view  them  well,  and  see. 
Southeast  we  sail  out  toward  some  islands  small, 
And  though  they  be  not  named  I  know  them  all. 
Beauties  they  are,  small  gems  of  lovely  green, 
Covered  with  palms  of  graceful  mien, 
And  quite  surrounded  by  a  snow-white  beach 
That  has  upon  it  shells  for  Sol  to  bleach. 
These  isles  would  be  the  very  soul's  delight 
Of  some  poor  monk  or  anchorite, 
Or  one  who,  tired  of  vain  applause, 
Has  left  the  world  to  study  Nature's  laws. 
But  look  here,  lads,  there  goes  a  school 
Of  tempting  mullet :  see  them  fool 
About  the  boat ;  I  wish  we  might 
Have  a  good  meal  out  of  the  sight. 
They  all  are  fat  and  taste  right  smart 
To  any  man  who  eats  a  part. 
See!  there's  a  skipper  riding  fast, 
His  tail  the  rudder,  and  himself  the  mast!" 
All  day,  to  some  sight  entertained, 
We  viewed  and  each  in  wisdom  gained; 
Saw  porpoise  ploughing  through  the  wave, 
Their  large,  mild  eyes  so  sad  and  grave, 
Asking  for  food  we  quickly  gave; 
And  flying  fish  with  finny  wings — 
Such  strange,  eccentric  little  things ! 
And  sharks  whose  ugly  dorsal  fin 


1 82     -        VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Cropped  out  like  some  vain-glorious  sin 

That  e'er  is  out,  and  ne'er  will  in; 

And  water- snakes;  and  turtles  large 

That  moved  along  like  some  vast  barge 

With  ponderous  load  and  heavy  charge. 

Ah  !  what  a  host  of  herrings  small ; 

Of  things  that  were  not  fish  at  all, 

Of  sailing  shells,  anemones, 

And  other  things  brought  by  the  breeze, 

Till  night  drew  on  and  found  us  where 

We  could  approach  without  a  care 

Near  to  the  mainland,  whose  wide  shore 

Was  strewn  with  coral,  shells,  and  ore. 

Back  was  a  forest,  dense  and  deep, 

In  which  scarce  daylight  dared  to  peep, 

But  looked  at  dusk,  like  some  abattis  made 

To  guard  a  fortress  or  resist  a  raid. 

After  our  supper,  after  night  fell  down, 

As  each  one  lay  wrapped  in  a  study  brown, 

There  rose  from  out  the  sea  a  little  arc, 

A  tiny  speck  of  white,  a  silver  bark, 

A  pretty  sight  to  see  just  after  dark. 

But  soon  it  turned  to  be  a  crescent  fair, 

Such  as  may  oft  be  seen  'most  anywhere. 

Slowly  the  orb  rose  upward,  as  a  beam, 

Glanced  down  to  meet  the  up-reflected  gleam, 

From  which  embrace  sprang  offspring  clear  and  bright- 

A  golden  line — that  trembling  path  of  light 

In  which  the  fairies  travel  after  night 

They  come  in  thousands  thro'  the  moonlit  ray, 

Down  to  our  earth,  but  ne'er  forget  do  they, 


FLORIDIANA.  183 

When  Morning's  path  is  made,  to  go  away— 

Of  this  was  thinking  Dexter  as  he  lay. 

"  Now,"  said  he  to  the  rest,  "if  you  desire, 

I  with  a  tale  will  you  sweet  thoughts  inspire, 

And  tell  you  what  I  read  long  years  ago, 

If  true  or  not,  I  say  I  do  not  know. 

Not  far  from  here,  for  so  the  legends  say, 

On  an  indented  island  in  our  bay, 

Was  treasure  hid  by  some  wild  buccaneer — 

No  date  is  given  to  us,  and  no  year — 

Before  old  Chronos  reigned  it  was,  I  fear; 

So  prick  your  ears  to  what  I  now  shall  tell, 

And  wake  you  up,  and  listen  well. 

VIOLA'S   CHARM. 

"Tis  told  that  centuries  ago 

There  lived  in  Spain  a  lady  rich, 
And  whoe'er  did  her  beauty  know 

Felt  its  deep  power  their  souls  bewitch. 

"  Not  only  wealth  in  house  and  gold, 

But  wealth  in  form  had  she  as  well ; 
What  charms  were  hers,  though  often  told, 
'Twas  said  no  human  tongue  could  tell. 

"Among  a  score  of  suitors,  there 

Were  only  two  the  maid  received, 
And  of  the  two  she  most  did  care 
For  bold  Andrino,  all  believed. 

"Though  Don  Fernando  often  came 
And  often  saw  the  lady,  too, 


184  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

The  question  was  to  win  the  dame 

Who  would,  and  which  the  damsel  woo. 

"  True  'twas,  Viola  loved  but  one 

Of  the  gay  courtiers  who  did  pay 
Their  kind  attentions,  now  begun 
And  growing  bolder  day  by  day. 

"And  he,  Fernando  was,  a  youth 

To  whom  she  gave  her  heart  and  hand, 
But  whom  in  combat,  for  a  truth, 
Could  not  his  rival  well  withstand. 

"Viola  feared  Andrino's  rage 

No  less  than  his  more  steady  blade; 
'But  time  his  passion  will  assuage,' 
Declared  the  eager,  loving  maid! 

"Yet  as  time  sped  and  months  flew  by, 

The  knight  his  love  told  ever  on, 
Nor  wearied  he;  but  well  did  ply 
His  suit  till  eve  from  early  dawn. 

"  One  balmy  day  Viola  felt 

She  could  not  wait  much  longer  now, 
And  told  Fernando,  as  he  knelt, 
Of  her  own  feelings  deep,  and  how 

"She  hoped  and  waited,  trusting  he, 

Fernando's  rival,  soon  would  cease  • 
To  seek  or  love  her,  so  that  she 
Could  marry  her  true  love  in  peace. 


FLORIDIANA.  185 

"  But  now  to  longer  wait  were  vain: 

She  had  a  plan  she  would  unfold; 
And  though  the  thought  did  give  her  pain, 
'Twas  needful  that  it  soon  be  told. 

"  And  ere  she  told,  her  lover  made 

A  promise  of  deep  secrecy, 
Till  all  their  plans  matured  as  laid 
Had  worked  out  their  conspiracy. 

'"In  that  far  country  of  the  West,' 
The  guilty  maiden  thus  began, 
'  Is  hidden  treasure — a  bequest — 
Unknown  since  years  to  any  man. 

"  "Tis  buried  in  some  obscure  isle; 

The  will  lies  hidden  with  the  gold, 
And  grants  to  him  the  precious  pile 
Who  seeks  and  finds  it  in  the  mould. 

'"  Placed  there  it  was  by  father's  sire, 

Panfilo  de  Narvaez,  brave, 
Whose  valiant  deeds  do  yet  inspire 
To  works  of  good  and  acts  that  save. 

" '  He  to  my  father  left  a  charm 

By  which  the  island  might  be  found, 

As  e'en  the  spot  where  strength  of  arm 

Must  seek  the  treasure  underground. 

"  '  This  charm  has  lain  in  disregard, 

And  is  a  useless  thing  to  me; 
So  now,  Fernando,  do  thou  guard 
It  as  my  offering  to  thee. 


1 86  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"  'For  it  will  give  thee,  more  than  gold, 

Possession  of  my  face  and  form ; 
Of  graces  which  shall  yet  unfold 
From  out  a  bosom  true  and  warm. 

" '  And  I  will  Don  Andrino  tell 

Of  this  my  plan — that  thou  and  he 
To  our  dear  Spain  bid  short  farewell, 
And  sail  across  the  mighty  sea. 

"  '  Find  in  our  country  far  away 

(What  thou  hast  aid  to  easy  find), 
And,  coming  back  that  very  day, 
Viola  claim  with  tranquil  mind. 

"  '  Go,  tell  your  rival  that  I  will 

He  come  with  thee  to-morrow  eve, 
Where,  in  our  garden  cool  and  still, 
I  may  his  mind- and  ours  relieve.' 

"Thus  spoke  the  damsel  as  she  left 

In  Don  Fernando's  hand  the  charm 
Which  he,  with  senses  nigh  bereft, 
Closed  down  upon  in  quick  alarm. 

"A  craven  fear  filled  all  his  soul, 

And,  trembling  now  in  every  limb, 
He  knew  guilt,  like  some  midnight  ghoul, 
Was  surely  creeping  over  him, 

"  The  morrow  came;  then  twilight  soft, 

That  fell  upon  a  garden  spot 
Where  wooing  branches  high  aloft 
Seemed  with  celestial  music  fraught. 


FLORIDIANA.  187 

"  And  on  a  rustic  seat  below 

Sat  Viola  with  both  her  knights, 
To  whom  in  accents  false  and  low 
She  thus  a  wicked  speech  indites: 

" '  List,  noble  lovers,  you  have  sought 

My  heart  and  hand  so  long  and  well, 
I  cannot  say  I  love  you  not; 

Which  love  the  best,  I  cannot  tell. 

"  '  So  to  your  ears  I  will  disclose 

A  plan  to  set  all  matters  right, 
And  spare  us  each  such  cruel  words 
As  spring  from  wrath  and  jealous  fight. 

"  '  There  is  in  our  new  land  afar, 

On  some  small  island  of  the  sea, 
Hidden  great  wealth;  what  may  debar 
You,  lords,  from  searching  it  for  me? 

"  '  To 'him  who  finds  the  gift  shall  be 

The*  gold  he  found,  and  I  will  give 
Him  all  he  ever  asks  of  me; 

Be  all  his  own  while  he  shall  live. 

" '  For  this  will  show  which  best  deserves 
The  love  of  her,  who,  speaking  now, 
Much  loves  you  both,  and  yet  reserves 
The  most  for  him  with  crowned  brow. 

" '  Who  with  success  and  lasting  fame 

Comes  to  receive  the  greater  meed, 

That  valiant  strength  and  wisdom  claim; 

Which  will  be  worthy  crown  indeed. 


OF 

.JT.IltSXtr 


1 88  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

'"Now,  promise,  knights,  give  me  your  word 

That  by  this  search  you  will  abide, 
And  each  by  oath  upon  his  sword 
Show  how  you  win  or  lose  a  bride.' 

"Then  these  two -knights  did  gladly  kneel 

Before  that  autocratic  maid, 
And  promise  ne'er  to  clash  their  steel, 
But  that  her  will  would  be  obeyed. 

•'As  many  other  fools  have  done 

Before  these  two  and  after  them, — 
With  promises  as  rash — like  one 
I  do  remember  well — a-hem  ! 

"A  man  in  love  sees  by  the  moon, 

His  daylight  wrapped  in  shadow  lies;. 
Judgment  trips  off  on  some  monsoon, 
That  blows  his  reason  to  the  skies. 

'"  Tis  sad  but  true  that  men  do  lose       • 
The  very  time  when  most  they  n'eed 
The  wits  they  had,  then  quite  refuse 
To  let  the  wits  of  others  lead, 

"  But  swear  they  know  their  own  affairs 
Better  than  saner  men  would  know. 
I  say,  who  fall  in  Cupid's  snares 
'Tis  ever  best  to  let  them  go. 

;'  'And,'  said  the  damsel,  'one  thing  yet 

To  both  I  give  this  much  advice: 
Do  not  return  here  till  you  get 
The  gain  or  loss,  at  any  price. 


FLORIDIANA.  189 

'"Go!  and  God  bless  you  in  your  task; 
Don  Carlo's  ship  to-morrow  sails; 
If  you  would  from  me  something  ask, 
Ask  quickly,  then;  for  night  prevails. 

"'No  answer!  well,  I  take  it  then 

You  both  brave  lords  are  satisfied. 
Farewell!  and  I  may  meet  you  when 

One  of  you  knights  shall  claim  his  bride.' 

"Two  months  had  gone;  one  sunny  day, 

With  soft,  warm  winds  and  smiling  skies, 
A  weary  ship  slow  on  its  way 
Into  a  tropic  harbor  hies. 

"Its  sails  were  tattered  well,  and  torn; 
A  Spanish  flag  hung  in  the  breeze, 
Showing  dim  colors  sadly  worn, 
And  harshly  treated  by  the  seas. 

"A  motley  crew  stood  on  the  deck 

Of  seamen  rough  and  buckled  knight, 
All  gazing  at  a  distant  speck 

That  danced  and  trembled  in  their  sight. 

"But  nearer  came  they,  till  it  grew 

Into  an  oval  form  of  green, 
With  palm  trees  tall  from  which  there  flew 
Gay  birds  with  necks  of  sparkling  sheen. 

"Gulls,  white  and  brown,  and  speckled  o'er, 
Rose,  now  alarmed,  with  flapping  wing; 
While  round  it  all  a  circling  shore 
Inclosed  it  like  some  wizard's  ring. 


190  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"'  Look,  noble  youths,'  the  captain  said; 

'  To  this  fair  land  our  fathers  came, 
And  to  its  shores  were  hither  led 
By  love  of  honor,  and  of  fame. 

'•'  I  trust  that  you  have  worthy  aims 

And  come  here  to  perpetuate, 
By  valiant  deeds,  your  honored  names, 
As  some  have  done  who  now  are  great. 

'"Pardon  me  if  I  seem  too  bold; 

Know  that  I  have  your  good  at  heart, 
For  you  are  young,  while  I  am  old ; 
So  tell  me  truly  as  we  part, 

"'  If  trouble  bring  ye  here  alone 

Out  to  this  country  wild  and  new, 

To  seek  in  wrath — calm  reason  flown — 

Revenge  which  ye  must  surely  rue. 

"  'Ne'er  gave  it  peace  to  any  man; 

'Twill  not  atone  for  any  sin ; 
It  doth  the  flame  of  anger  fan 
And  drive  its  pain  but  deeper  in.' 

"'Well,  we  believe  thee,  honest  friend;' 

And,  listening,  thus  Don  Carlos  heard, 
Our  two  knights  make  suave  amend 
For  silent  mood  and  sullen  word. 

" '  But  we  come  not  with  evil  mind, 
Nor  do  we  wish  each  other  ill ; 
For  both  here  come  to  search  and  find 
A  long  and  nigh  forgotten  will. 


FLORIDIANA.  I91 

'"Thinking  of  this,  forgotten  were 

Things  more  apparent  and  more  near 
Since  what  we  search  is  but  for  her— 
We  shall  not  quarrel ;  do  not  fear.' 

"Now  running  here  and  running  there, 

With  stern  command  and  startling  shout, 
1  )ark-visaged  sailors  everywhere 

Great  ropes  and  cordage  swung;  about. 

"Till  suddenly  the  anchor  dropped, 
And  sank  into  the  shallow  tide; 
As  quick  the  ponderous  vessel  stopped 
And  tossed  the  waters  from  its  side. 

"Sir  knights,   adieu!     I  leave  you  each 

To  go  your  way,  where'er  that  be, 
While  I  and  my  poor  ship  do  reach 
Some  trading  islands  south  of  me. 

'"Jupiter  inlet  this  we  call; 

A  few  kind  friends  live  just  within, 
Where  open  hearts,  though  hamlet  small, 
Will  glad  receive  their  blood  and  kin.' 

"And  so  the  captain  bade  adieu 

To  our  lone  lords,  who  quickly  went 
Into  the  forest,  and  from  view 

In  search  of  house  and  dwelling  bent. 

"  Down  through  a  path  they  found  their  way, 

Past  cherry,  oak,  and  walnut  tree; 
Past  iron-wood  and  silver  bay, 
And  dogwood  and  mahogany. 


192  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"Through  palm,  and  hickory  red  and  white; 

By  poplar,  cypress,  gum,  and  ash; 
Magnolias  whose  blossoms  might 
The  Amazon's  fair  flowers  abash. 

"As  over  all  the  clinging  vine 

With  mild  persuasion,  binding  still, 
The  branches  which  it  did  entwine, 
Ruled  over  with  an  iron  will. 

"'Ah!'  thought  Andrino,  'what  has  He, 

Our  Lord,  kept  back  from  out  his  store, 
That  ever  and  anon  should  we 
Be  asking  yet  for  more  and  more  ? 

" '  Now,  as  I  walk  my  heart  expands, 

I  feel  my  own  inanity; 
And  realize  that  my  demands 
•  Are  oft  but  prayers  of  vanity. 

'"At  times  I  ask  I  know  not  what, 

And  grow  content  by  less  and  less, 
As  in  my  greed  I  have  forgot 
The  very  blessings  I  possess.' 

"At  last  they  reach  a  garden  small, 

In  which  a  homely  cottage  stood, 
Where  orange  grew  and  plantain  tall, 
And  many  other  kinds  of  wood. 

"  Agaves  straight  and  yucca  blades, 

Mimosas  held  in  quivering  green; 

And  flowers,  sweet  in  many  shades, 

From  pink  and  blue  to  mazarine. 


FLORIDIANA.  193 

"  Within  a  latticed  portico, 

Up  which  trailed  graceful  clematis, 
Stretched  in  a  hammock  snug  and  low 
Swung  there  a  pretty  little  miss 

"  None  else  there  seemed  about  but  her, 
And  she  asleep  was,  fast  and  sound; 
So  watched  the  knights  but  did  not  stir, 
For  much  they  were  in  wonder  bound. 

"  A  girl  it  was  whose  fairy  shape 

Lay  wrapped  in  careless  robes  of  white; 
Her  tresses  like  a  sable  cape 

Fell  o'er  her  shoulders  soft  and  light. 

"Down  by  her  side  a  romance  lay, 

Forgotten  quite,  or  in  some  dream 
Told  over  in  a  different  way, 

With  grander  plot  and  larger  scheme. 

"  A  smile  was  on  her  face,  her  breast 
In  trembling  motion  rose  and  fell; 

'  Ah!  maiden  of  thy  snowy  nest 

The  mystery  what  tongue  can  tell?' 

"  Thus  thought  Andrino  as  he  stood, 
And  drank  the  wondrous  beauty  in : 

'  Oh !  in  such  heavenly  shapes  how  could 
There  ever  creep  the  shame  of  sin  ? 

'"Therein  lie  hidden,  strong  and  deep, 

Feelings  that  will  in  after  years 
Thy  heart  and  soul  and  body  keep, 

In  sure  reserve  for  joy  or  tears.' 
13 


194  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"  Now  with  a  start  the  damsel  woke — 

Some  power  mesmeric  warned  her  sense- 
And,  flushing  crimson,  quickly  spoke 
With  air  of  righteous  insolence: 

'"What  business  have  ye  two  to  be— 

Strangers  withal  and  here  unknown — 
Gazing  like  idiots  to  see 

A  maiden  sleeping  and  alone  ?  ' 

" '  Pardon,  sweet  maid,  and  do  forgive' — 

Andrino  spoke  in  pleasing  tone — 
'  Us  knights  who  truly  would  not  give 
Thee  cause  for  anger  had  we  known 

"  'The  way  to  go  in  this  great  wood, 

Or  where  else  might  we  shelter  find, 

From  Spain  came  we,  our  kinship  should 

Take  fear  of  danger  from  thy  mind.' 

"  'I  ask  thee  pardon,  noble  knight, 

For  my  impetuosity; 
But  greatly  startled,  in  my  fright 
Uttered  I  words  too  thoughtlessly. 

"  'Take  seats  within,  and  I  will  go 

To  seek  my  parents  in  the  dell 
Where  they  have  gone,  for  now  I  know 
They  will  receive  thee  wondrous  well.' 

" '  Her  glance  and  word  are  but  for  thee,' 

Said  Don  Fernando  with  a  sneer, 
As  down  the  garden  light  and  free 
The  maiden's  form  did  disappear. 


FLORIDIANA.  195 

"  'She  smiles  upon  the  handsome  one 
And  looks  not  at  the  lesser  light, 
But  we  shall  see  when  we  have  done 
Which  comes  out  victor  in  the  fight.' 

"  '  What  angry  devil  has  within 

Thee  once  more  broken  bolt  and  bar, 
And,  like  some  guilty,  jealous  sin, 
Sounded  his  tocsin  from  afar  ? 

"  '  Know  that  I  will  not  quarrel  now, 

Nor  e'er  again;  so  hold  thy  tongue, 
And  if  by  chance  upon  thy  brow 

The  wreath  of  victory  should  be  flung, 

"  '  I  shall  not  trouble  thee,  nor  show 

My  shadow  'twixt  thee  and  thy  light; 
But  act  so  all  the  world  may  know 
How  keeps  his  oath  a  worthy  knight. 

'"Though  thou  who  art  a  coward  born,' 

Kept  on  Andrino,  in  his  rage, 
'  I  love  thee  not  and  with  thee  scorn 
To  ever  in  a  feud  engage- 

" '  If  thou  dost  gain  the  treasure  rich, 

And  win  Viola's  hand  as  well, 
'Twill  be  I  know  by  aid  of  witch 

Or  some  enchantment  dark  from  hell.' 

"  Quick  as  a  flash,  Fernando  took 

His  sword  and  plunged  it  in  the  breast 
Of  him  who  spoke,  and  then  betook 
Himself  of  other  home  in  quest. 


196  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"The  wounded  lord  lay  on  the  floor, 
Unconscious  and  of  ghastly  hue, 
As  maid  and  parent  near  the  door 
With  quickening  pace  all  eager  drew. 

"  Not  waiting  questions  vain  to  ask, 

They  took  the  youth  and  gently  bound — 
The  maiden  aiding  in  their  task— 

With  healing  salve,  his  bleeding  wound. 

"  And  so  the  daughter  nursed  him  on, 

From  day  to  day  and  week  to  week, 
Till  many  days  and  weeks  were  gone, 
And  color  touched  again  his  cheek. 

"To  his  kind  friends  Andrino  told 

Oft  of  his  search,  now  long  delayed; 
About  the  will  and  all  its  gold, 
Nor  did  forget  the  Spanish  maid. 

u  But  as  he  spoke  of  her,  the  eyes 

Of  his  young  nurse  would  flash  and  flame, 
Her  head  bend  low,  like  one  who  tries 
To  hide  from  view  a  modest  shame. 

"And  as  he  gazed  upon  the  face, 

Many  a  time  he  thought  how  pure, 
And  even  heavenly,  was  the  grace 
Which  he  who  won  her  would  secure. 

"  He  loved  her,  though  he  knew  it  not, 

Far  better  than  the  faithless  child 
Who  by  deceptive  practice  brought 
Him  to  this  tropic  land  so  wild. 


FLORIDIANA.  .  197 

"And  she  loved  him,  and  knew  it  well, 

With  all  a  maiden's  burning  zeal, 
Which  trembling  hand  and  blushes  tell, 
And  which  no  maid  can  e'er  conceal. 

"Now,  every  day  Andrino  grew 

Better,  and  strength  came  to  his  arm, 
While  round  his  heart  love's  halo  threw 
Its  cheerful  radiance  soft  and  warm, 

"  Till  after  while  he  realized 

Without  this  love  he  could  not  live; 
And  far  above  mere  treasure  prized 
What  would  him  sweeter  comfort  give. 

"  One  morning  then,  before  the  sun 

Poured  its  rich  rays  upon  the  earth, 

While  yet  the  skies  were  gray  and  dun, 

And  no  fires  kindled  on  the  hearth, 

"Andrino  lay  in  wakeful  mood, 

Thinking  of  what  he  soon  should  do; 
How,  ere  he  left  that  shady  wood 
He  must  his  faithful  guardian  woo. 

"  '  Already  I  believe  her  heart 

Is  won  by  mine,  as  mine  by  hers, 
While  each  to  ea~h  does  love  impart, 
Though  open  sufferance  each  defers. 

"'  I  can  no  longer  rest  in  doubt, 

Since  doubt  no  longer  rests  with  me, 
But  I  will  quickly  set  about 
And  make  my  declaration  free. 


[98  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"'  As  for  the  one  I  left  in  Spain, 

No  more  I  love  her,  nor  her  gold, 
And  I  will  never  search  again 
For  paltry  treasure  in  the  mould, 

'"Since  I  have  found  far  better  worth 
Than  such  a  love  as  honor  gains, 
Or  prosperous  searching  round  the  earth 
O'er  mountain,  forests,  hills,  or  plains.' 

"In  musings  similar,  the  maid 

Oft  in  her  chamber,  after'dark, 
Launched  on  her  sea,  yet  half  afraid, 
Fo  id  longings  in  Hope's  fragile  bark; 

"And  feared  she  knew  not  what  might  turn 

Thit  bark  upon  some  hidden  rock, 
For  pleasant  wind  and  wave  to  spurn, 
And  for  an  angry  sea  to  mock. 

"  Yet  had  she  found  a  mystic  charm, 
E'en  on  the  day  Fernando  gave 
To  his  brave  comrade  that  deep  harm 
Which  almost  brought  him  to  his  grave. 

"For  as  he  took  his  sword,  there  fell 
Out  of  his  pocket  to  the  ground 
Viola's  charm,  that  proved  so  well 
Exacting  payment  for  the  wound. 

"  And  in  a  letter  wrapped  about 
The  magic  thing,  Viola  gave 
As  best  she  knew  the  proper  route, 
That  toil  she  might  her  lover  save. 


FLORIDIANA.  199 

"This  read  the  maiden  Felisa, 

Nor  understood  its  import  till 
She  heard  the  tale  of  Viola, — 

Of  hidden  wealth  and  mouldy  will. 

"Then  to  her  senses,  like  a  flash 

Of  lightning  from  some  passing  cloud, 
Came  the  full  meaning  of  the  rash 

And  treacherous  act;  and  like  a  shroud 

"  It  folded  her  pure  heart  all  up, 

And  bound  it  with  a  deep  regret; 
She  thought  'twould  be  a  bitter  cup 
For  her  dear  noble  friend,  and  yet, 

"Perhaps,  if  but  he  knew,  he  might 

Love  her  as  she  did  him,  and  be 
Her  own,  as  she  would  his,  delight. 
'And  shall  I  show  him  this? 'said  she, 


U   (, 


This  charm  and  letter?     No,  he  must, 
If  love  me  ever,  love  me  now, 

Before  I  break  the  wreath  of  trust 
Placed  by  Viola  on  his  brow.'  ': 

And  here  stopped  Dexter  in  his  tale, 
As  though  his  heart  and  tongue  did  fail 

To  more  relate; 

For  Luna  now  had  hidden  deep 
Her  laughing  face  and  gone  to  sleep; 
Nor  would  she  longer  vigils  keep, 

But  called  it  late. 
While  echoes  all  the  shore  along 


2oo  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Caught  Tabler  snoring  loud  and  strong, 
And  did  his  nasal  notes  prolong. 
"  I  think  'tis  growing  late,  my  friends, 
And  for  my  tale  will  make  amends 

By  ending  for  the  night," 
Said  Dexter,  as  he  fixed  his  couch, 
And  twisted  round  his  hunting  pouch 

From  left  to  right. 

"No,  no,"  cried  his  companions  all; 
"It  is  not  very  late  at  all; 

A.nd  ere  we  close  our  eyes, 
We  wish  to  hear  of  Viola, 
But  most  if  gentle  Felisa 

Did  win  her  noble  prize. 
No  matter  if  our  Tabler  snores, 
No  doubt  his  troubled  spirit  soars 

Into  Elysian  skies." 

"But  don't  stay  thar,"  cried  Tabler  quick, 
"  My  wife  she  says  I  never  stick 

In  any  place; 

As  though  a  man  were  like  a  brick 
To  be  stuck  down  with  mortar  thick, 
Or  like  some  dangerous  lunatic, 

I  do  declar 

'Tis  fit  to  make  a  parson  swar. 
But,  frien',  tell  on  that  purty  tale 
Of  which  I  did  the  sense  inhale 

A  while  ago. 

I  think  we  left  off  whar  them  knights 
Was  havin'  out  their  jealous  spites. 
I  want  to  know 


FLORTDIANA.  201 

How  Don  Fandrino  did  behave, 
For  he  was  nothing  but  a  knave 
And  sure  deserved  a  fiddler's  grave." 
"Without  more  parley  and  more  fuss, 
Since  you  all  seem  unanimous 

In  asking  for  my  story, 
I  will  tell  how  it  came  to  pass 
Our  noble  lord  and  his  sweet  lass 
United  were  by  holy  mass 

In  matrimonial  tie; 
So  listen,  friends,  a  little  more; 
Not  long  it  will  be  now  before 

The  end  we  spy." 

"  Andrino,  fretting  at  the  fate 

That  kept  him  prisoner  so  long, 
More  restless  grew,  and  could  not  wait 
Till  he  was  really  well  and  strong; 

"But  strength  enough  he  had  to  make 

His  wishes  known  to  maid  and  sire, 
Which,  well  received,  did  new  awake 
Felisa's  love  and  pure  desire. 

"  She  felt  now  that  her  secret  might 
Be  told  Andrino,  without  fear; 
Indeed,  thought  she,  it  is  but  right 

That  he  the  monstrous  plot  should  hear. 

And  so  she  told  him,  as  his  cheek 

Grew  red  and  white  alternately, 
And  his  poor  tongue  refused  to  speak, 

Or  muttered  incoherently. 


202  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

" '  Couldst  thou  then  love  the  lass  so  well?' 

The  damsel  at  his  side  did  ask, 
'  Or  dost  thou  some  regret  the  spell 

That  takes  thee  from  thy  weary  task  ? ' 

"  '  In  error  art  thou,  gentle  maid,' 

The  lord  made  answer,  as  he  pressed 
Her  clinging  hand,  and  softly  laid 
A  throbbing  head  upon  his  breast, 

"'Before  I  heard,  this,  thou  dost  know 

I  asked  thee,  love,  to  be  my  bride; 
Far  better  than  all  else  below 
I  love  thee,  and  all  things  beside. 

"'But  shocked  I  felt  to  hear  of  her, 

Whom  I  believed  was  true  and  kind, 
As  one  who  could  so  sadly  err 
And  plot  and  plan  with  evil  mind. 

'"And,  oh!  I  thank  the  Lord  that  he 

Did  send  me  to  this  wonder-land, 
To  find  my  treasure  all  in  thee; 

A  mighty  wealth  of  heart  and  hand. 

"'Aye,  thankful  that  I  have  escaped 

Seeking  to  find  what  such  a  youth, 
Whose  paths  in  windings  dark^are  shaped, 
Would  soon  have  easy  found,  forsooth. 

"  'But  now,  my  love,  when  may  we  wed  ? 
The  earth  is  fair,  and  summer  skies 
Propitious  seem;  by  song-birds  led 
The  forest  wafts  us  harmonies. 


FLORIDIANA.  203 

1  'The  passion-flowers  round  yonder  tree 

Have  opened  all  their  blossoms  wide; 
The  bridal  rose  and  fleur  de  Us, 
And  pinks  that  in  the  hedges  hide. 

"Acacias,  lindens,  jessamines, 

Smile  on  us  with  a  gladsome  air; 
Myrtles,  marjorams,  eglantines, 
White  lilies,  balm,  and  lavender.' 

;"Yes,'  said  Felisa;  'but  you  see 

Among  them  all  lobelias  grow, 
The  laurel,  crown,  and  barberry, 
Emblems  of  evil,  scorn,  and  woe. 

"'While  in  the  sky  appears  a  cloud, 

A  night-hawk  screeches  overhead, 
So,  knight,'  and  laughed  she  half  aloud, 
'  I  wonder  when  we  two  may  wed?  ' 

c:<I  see,'  Andrino  made  reply, 

'  Thy  meaning  is  that  Nature  will 
Her  kind  approval  ne'er  deny 
To  him  who  wishes  her  no  ill. 

'"She  frowns  and  smiles  alike  on  all; 

'Tis  only  he  with  mind  morose, 
Who,  murmuring,  finds  the  bitter  gall 
And  takes,  by  choice,  a  noxious  dose. 

'"To  all  who  hold  a  cheerful  heart, 

Each  flower  or  shrub  or  tender  blade 
Is  Providence,  which  doth  impart 
In  turn  bright  sun  or  gladsome  shade. 


204  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"  'On  good  and  bad  the  same  rays  fall, 

And  so  to  good  or  bad  intent; 
And  what  we  have  is  not  at  all 
More  to  us  than  to  others  sent. 

'"What  brings  the  bud  to  perfect  bloom, 

And  breathes  sweet  life  to  hidden  seed, 
Sends  blossoms  to  a  darkened  tomb 
And  proves  the  death  of  life,  indeed. 

'"According  as  we  search,  we  find; 

Enjoy  as  we  appreciate, 
So  'tis  not  Providence,  but  mind 

That  holds  the  keys  of  chance  and  fate. 

"'This  I  believe,  and  now,  dear  one, 
I  see  how  Nature's  winning  smile 
My  joy  increases  with  each  sun, 

And  how  things  well  my  hours  beguile. 

" '  But  I  am  ready:  give  me  this, 

The  charm  thou  hast,  and  let  me  go ; 
When  I  return  most  perfect  peace 

Shall  crown  what  augured  perfect  woe. 

'"And  when  the  treasure — yours  and  mine- 

I  shall  discover,  we  may  wed, 
Whether  the  earth  with  light  doth  shine 
Or  courts  the  storm-cloud  overhead.' 

"  With  clinging  hand  and  fond  caress, 

Andrino  left  his  love's  abode, 
And,  in  the  somber  wilderness, 

Deep  through  its  mystic  shadows  rode. 


WITH    TORTUOUS    STRAITS    AND    STRANGE    DEFILES 
PASSING     BETWEEN,    DRAW    EACH    AND    ALL 


FLORIDIANA.  205 

"  Long  was  the  ride,  past  jungles  dense, 

And  swamp  and  plain  and  deep  morass ; 
By  Indian  villages,  and  tents 

Which  sent  their  points  up  through  the  grass. 

"Rivers  he  crossed,  and  muddy  lakes, 

In  which  dwelt  things  innumerable, 
Lizards  and  toads  and  water-snakes 
And  beasts  with  coats  invulnerable. 

"Weary  he  grew  as  days  went  on, 

But  now  at  length  drew  near  the  shore, 
Just  as  the  light  of  early  dawn 

Tinged  all  the  ocean  o'er  and  o'er. 

"And  here  he  saw  a  myriad  isles, 

Narrow  and  wide  and  great  and  small, 
With  tortuous  straits  and  strange  defiles, 
Passing  between  them  each  and  all. 

"Nor  could  he  tell  which  one  might  be 

The  isle  wherein  the  treasure  lay; 
And,  blaming  the  temerity 
That  led  him  on  so  far  away, 

"Now  off  in  spirit  went  the  knight, 

His  body  lying  on  the  sand ; 
Through  all  the  islands  left  and  right, 
And  on  the  sea  and  on  the  land. 

"Till  came  he  to  a  lovely  spot, 

Shaded  by  royal  trees  of  palm, 
No  better  place  could  be,  he  thought, 
For  sweet  repose  and  restful  calm. 


206  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"'Tis  here/  said  voices,  'we  will  touch 

The  utmost  limit  of  our  span, 
Never  in  any  age  was  such 
A  favor  done  for  any  man. 

'"Not  far  art  thou,  good  knight,  from  where 

The  treasure  that  thou  seekest  lies, 
Which  thou  mayst  find  without  a  care, 
If  anxious,  ere  the  daylight  dies.' 

"Then,  as  the  knight  awoke,  his  arm 

Crossed  heavy  on  a  burdened  breast, 
He  found  the  Spanish  maiden's  charm 
Within  his  hand  was  tightly  pressed. 

"And  to  his  mind  the  dream  returned, 

Nor,  as  he  rose,  did  pass  away; 

'Come,'  said  he  gaily,  'what  is  earned 

'Must  be  secured  without  delay.' 

"And  so  forthwith  he  made  a  boat 

Of  cypress  trunk,  hollow  and  large, 
In  which  as  swiftly  could  he  float 
Or  safely,  as  in  grander  barge. 

"Palmetto  leaves  for  oars  he  took, 
Yet  scarcely  needed  oars  at  all, 
For  in  this  strange  Elysian  nook 
Crowded  were  islands  large  and  small 

"So  close  the  bark  could  guided  be 

On  through  the  channels  blue  and  still, 
Slowly  along  or  rapidly, 

According  to  the  boatman's  will. 


FLORIDIANA.  207 

"  Now  came  the  morning  rays,  with  light 

Traversing  all  that  sea  of  isles, 
Turning  the  shadow  frowns  of  night 
Into  the  day's  bright,  laughing  smiles. 

"And  mom  laughed  back,  and  dancing  ray 

Clove  spears  of  gold  through  palm  and  fern, 
As  lone  Andrino  sought  his  way 
With  eager  gaze,  from  bend  to  turn. 

"At  length  he  saw  an  island  dark, 

Which,  to  his  eye,  did  surely  seem, 
As  nearer  drew  he  with  his  bark, 
The  very  island  of  his  dream. 

"Tall,  haughty  palms  grew  high,  and  trees 

Of  other  size  and  shade  were  there, 
With  blossoms  sweet  from  which  the  bees 
Bore  their  rich  burdens  through  the  air. 

"  Here  stayed  Andrino  with  his  bark, 
And  drew  it  high  upon  the  beach, 
Far  past  the  highest  water  mark, 
Where  tide  and  storm  could  never  reach. 

"  And  then  Viola's  letter  took, 

Reading  it  once  again,  to  see 
Where  on  the  island  he  might  look 
If  this  the  treasure  spot  should  be. 

"'The  isle  is  small,'  the  letter  said, 

'  Covered  with  tangle  branch  and  vine; 
But  seek  its  center,  thither  led 
Thy  path  will  be  by  aid  divine.' 


2o8  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

"  And  so  Andrino  hurried  fast, 

Guided  he  knew  not  how,  but  still 
On  to  the  sought-for  place,  at  last 
By  strange  direction  of  some  will. 

u  And  there  he  saw,  ah !  must  I  say  ? 
Fernando  prone  upon  his  face ; 
A  lifeless,  wasted  form  of  clay, 
Atoning  for  his  past  disgrace. 

"  Quite  dead  he  lay  across  the  mound 

Of  earth  whereon  no  grasses  grew, 
And  where,  within  deep  underground, 
Lay  all  the  treasure  he  did  sue. 

'"Strange  fate,  alas!'  Andrino  mused, 

'Has  led  my  rival  to  this  spot; 
Without  the  charm  he  would  have  used 
The  very  place  his  soul  has  sought. 

'"And  yet  he  knew  it  not,  but  died, 
Miserable,  starving,  here  alone. 
God  pity  him!     His  virgin  bride, 
Must  now  his  sins  and  hers  atone.' 

"  Down  in  the  white  soil's  hidden  keep 
Andrino  found  the  maiden's  gold ; 
And  in  its  place,  as  far  and  deep, 
Buried  his  rival  in  the  mould. 

^'•Quantum  sufficitj  carved  he  plain 

In  letters  rude  upon  a  cross; 
'  Since  God  alone  can  give  the  gain 

'Tis  right  that  he  should  send  the  loss. 


FLORIDIANA.  209 

"Full  was  Andrino's  thankful  heart, 

When  to  his  loving  bride  he  went, 
And  found  her  willing  then  to  start 
For  any  shore  or  continent. 

"Back  to  old  Spain  they  sailed,  and  there 

Were  married  into  happy  life; 
No  happier  couple  anywhere 

Than  Don  Andrino  and  his  wife. 

"Not  for  themselves  the  gold  they  kept, 

But  gave  it  to  the  needy  poor, 
And  many  in  their  castle  slept 

Who  sought  admittance  at  their  door. 

"So,  like  a  magic  wreath  around, 

Good  deeds  and  children  circled  them, 
And,  one  by  one,  these  gems  were  bound 
Into  a  household  diadem." 

Here  ended  Dexter,  as  the  camp-fire  threw 
Its  dying  glimmer  on  a  sleepy  crew, 
And  flashed  and  darkened  like  some  lightning  cloud, 
While  Tabler,  soundly  sleeping,  snored  aloud, 
And  thought  the  whole  of  this  long  tale  he  heard, 
Hearing  a  sentence  here,  and  there  a  word, 
And  flattered  much  himself  that  he  could  keep, 
At  this  late  hour,  from  falling  fast  asleep. 

"Tell  me  some  more,"  he  said;  "Fandrino  will 
The  other  fellow  lord  mos'  surely  kill, 
Unless  the  captain  of  the  ship  they  sail 
Does  lock  the  useless  fellows  both  in  jail." 

"You  have  our  thanks,"  said  Benjamin;  "but  tell 
14 


210  VERSES  FROM  THE  VALLEY. 

Us  what  became  of  that  false  Spanish  belle?" 

"Yes,"  cried  the  others;  "  we  are  anxious  all 
To  learn  what  to  the  maiden  did  befall." 

"Little  is  known,"  said  Dexter,  "of  her  life 
After  Andrino  married  his  sweet  wife; 
She  left  her  native  land  and  ne'er  returned, 
Nor  where  she  went  was  ever  surely  learned; 
Though  some  have  said  she  crossed  the  sea,  and  came 
Here  to  this  land,  disguised  in  dress  and  name, 
And,  much  repenting  of  her  former  sin, 
Tried  by  good  deeds  a  better  fame  to  win.'' 

"My  tale,"  cried  Benjamin,  "may  only  be 
A  sequel  to  the  happy  one,  which  we 
Have  gladly  heard  you  tell,  and  this  false  maid 
The  same  child  to  whose  grave  we  homage  paid." 

"  But  so  or  not,  good-night,"  we  said  to  all, 
And  as  we  spoke 
The  fire's  last  embers  darkened  into  smoke. 

With  this  night  ended  all  our  trip  as  well, 
For  early  in  the  morning  it  befell 
That  Tabler  took  a  lonesome  "spell," 
And  said  he  would  not  go  another  mile 

On  sea  or  shore; 
Nor  with  rich  promises  could  we  beguile 

Or  him  implore. 

•"  We've  skipped  across,"  said  Tabler,  "land  and  sea, 
And,  as  the  sayin'  is,  enough's  enough  for  me; 
We  couldn't  find  no  new  thing  now,  you  see: 
A-hunting  nothing  arter  finding  it 
Is  like  a-fighting  arter  you  have  fit; 


FLORIDIANA.  211 

Birds,  flowers,  and  sech  is  good  enough  to  see, 
But  something  more  substantial  give  to  me." 
We  could  not  quell  this  mutiny,  and  so 
Decided  then,  that  very  day,  to  go 

Back  to  our  trees. 

Besides,  our  clothes  were  old,  for  we 
Had  been  a  month  or  so  at  sea. 

Now  came  the  breeze, 

By  whose  kind  help  we  sped  along,  nor  took, 
Like  Lot's  sad  wife,  a  backward  look. 
Our  shells  we  piled  into  the  Pet, 
And  never  did  one  thing  forget 
Of  coral,  sponge,  of  stones  with  color  rare, 
Of  leaves  and  grasses  gathered  here  and  there, 
Of  alligator's  teeth,  and  jaw  of  shark, 
Of  crabs,  and  claws,  and  moss,  and  weed,  and  bark, 
Of  birds,  and  nests,  and  eggs,  and  other  things 
Which  Nature  to  this  country  kindly  brings. 
Thus  laden  now,  we  on  our  homeward  way 
Moved  with  the  breeze  through  strait  and  stretching  bay, 
Camping  by  night  upon  some  little  isle, 
And  starting  out  before  the  rooming's  smile, 
Till,  when  eight  days  had  gone,  on  Tampa's  shore 
We  furled  our  tattered  sails  and  sailed  no  more. 


IN    PREPARATION 


SKETCHES 


Bound   in   Cloth,    $1.OO. 


These  sketches  are  very  interesting,  and  written  in  that  pleasing  style  charac 
teristic  of  the  Author  of  "VERSES  FROM  THE. VALLEY."  They  have  been 
compared  by  some  to  Hawthorne's  "TWICE  TOLD  TALES." 


1H-  'HER 


IECES 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR, 


Bound  in   Cloth,  $1.00. 


This  volume  contains  some  twelve  essays,  on  Liberty,  Manners,   Inconstancy, 
Criticism,    The  Right  and  Wrong,  Being  and  Doing,  and  other  subjects.    • 


BIT 


tt] 


BY  E.  S.  GOODHUE, 

Beautifully  Bound  in'  Cloth,  Price  $l.r,0. 


What  you  have  sent  impresses  me  very  favorably.      Mr.  Goodhue 
is  a  poet,  and  will  be  recognized  as  such  before  many  years. 

Boston,  Jan.  24,  1880.  E.  P.  WHIPPLE. 


For  one  so  young  he  has  made  himself  quite  a  literary  niche. 

REV.  DR.  P.  S.  McKILLOP, 
Chicago,  March,  1879.  Editor  "Missionary.  ' 


The  poems  from  the  pen  of  the  Editor-in-Chief  possess  very  con 
siderable  merit,  and  all  the  articles  are  well  written. 

W.  E.  JONES,  M.  A. 
February,  1879.  (Oxon.)  in  review  of  College  "Echo." 


Have  always  found  Mr.  (loodhue  an  easy  and  pleasant  writer. 
He  has  contributed  to  our  columns  for  several  years.—  [Editor 
"Observer." 

Dec.  30,  1883. 


Some  with  whom  we  have  spoken  think  the  poetry  of  "E.  S.  (i." 
is  too  metaphysical ;  but  if  any  one  can  read  his  "Release"  without 
being  moved  to  admiration  at  its  sweetness  and  beauty,  we  say  he 
has  no  soul  for  poetry.  JAMES  H.  ROE, 

March,  1888.  In  Riverside  "Echo." 


iel  Hawthorne,  which  author,  by  the  way,  was  a  near  relative  of  Mr. 
Goodhue's  grandfather.  His  family  is  an  old  one  to  which  he  refers 
with  considerable  pride.  His  ancestor,  Wm.  Goodhue,  came  to  Massa. 
chusetts  in  1636,  and  left  a  homestead  still  in  possession  of  the  Salem 
Goodhues.  The  family  genealogy  contains  many  well  known  names 
among  which  are  those  of  "Gail  Hamilton"  (Miss  Dodge)  and  Edna 
Dean  Proctor. 

Mr.  Goodhue  loves  the  South  and  the  Southern  people,  as  a,uy  on.e 

who  reads  his  poetry  need  not  be  long  in  finding  out..    Many   of  his 

u^est  sketches  were  written  from  n.ote§  tafcen.  in   Virginia  and  North 

o     «olina.  ^gge^^ssi^  J.  L.  BROWN. 

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